


and then you bring me home

by truejaku (hereonourstreet)



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Dry Humping, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shower Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 193,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1707251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereonourstreet/pseuds/truejaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of "daddy kink #2" that took a strange turn; Noiz drowns himself in Virus and Trip because they indulge his problematic self-hatred. Then he accidentally starts to build a relationship with Mizuki and ah jeez Mizuki's a fuckin saint you know where this is going. Multichapter, post-Minao route, also includes Noijaku, Tripjaku, mentions of Minao. Some chapters may be from another POV (probably Koujaku).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            The first thing you do when you get Virus and Trip in your apartment this time is slam down a bottle of lube, hard, on your coffee table and stare at Trip pointedly.

            “ _This_ ,” you spit, “is lube. You use it to open someone up if you’re gonna put your dick in them. _Especially_ ,” you turn to Virus, “if you’re gonna put _two_ dicks in them.”

            Trip’s grin splits his face apart and he lumbers forward to pick up the bottle and study it. You’re surprised he can read. In any case, he actually _can’t_ read it, and you know that because it’s in German, but he stares at it anyway. Your lips curl into a morbidly amused frown. Is he pretending to read?

            “Very well, we’ll use it,” Virus says suddenly. He removes his glasses and pulls his tie out of his jacket to clean them off. You’re surprised to find he can manage to look even more unsettling than he normally does. Without his glasses he has dark circles under his eyes and they’re wider than you realized. They focus on you and you’d shiver if you could actually feel the pang of bitter anxiety run down your spine. “Rather, Trip will use it.”

            “Whatever,” you grumble, grabbing the knot of your tie and pulling it loose. Virus starts to pinch the bridge of his nose.

            “I’m feeling very tired tonight, as a matter of fact,” he says. Trip’s eyes finally stray from the bottle and he stares at Virus from under his eyelashes. “I may just watch. If that’s alright.”

            Your hands slow down but they don’t stop. You consider it, though you realize you don’t really have a choice. When you look at Trip his heavy eyes are already glaring at you. You can’t really pick up on any discernible power dynamic between these two, but you’ve always gotten the impression that Virus means more to Trip than the other way around and he’s probably annoyed that Virus doesn’t want to join in. Maybe he waits for fucks like this for his chance to have sex with Virus. You can’t tell for sure. You don’t really care.

            “Fine,” you say, ripping your tie through the collar of your shirt and dropping it to the ground.

            “Eh, also… do you have any wine, by chance?”

            Trip straightens up at his words. The only wine you have is Moscato – it’s sweet – but something tells you Virus isn’t a Moscato kind of guy. You shrug.

            “I – guess,” you say, and you trudge into your kitchen and fish the bottle of wine out from your wine rack by the refrigerator. As you grab a wine glass from the cabinet you realize how bizarre this is. You’re getting Virus a glass of wine for him to drink while Trip fucks you and you’ve consented to this. You haven’t just consented. You want this. Badly.

            You turn to the living room and catch another glimpse of Trip’s vapid stare. His thumbs are hooked into his pockets and he’s watching Virus as he takes a seat on your couch. You thought you didn’t care about them, but for some reason you wish you could ask him how he feels about Virus. It’s as if he’s his bodyguard or protector of some kind and if they weren’t yakuza, you’d wonder what their purpose in life was. You shake your head and stop thinking about it. You walk back into the living room slowly and they both look at you. Trip is unflinching. Virus smiles slightly.

            “Ah, thank you, Noiz-san,” he says, reaching out and you put the bottle and glass in his delicate hands. Then you stand there like a dumbass, like a tree rooted to the ground, and you and Trip both watch him pop the cork out and pour himself a glass. He takes a sip and nods at you.

            “Go ahead,” he says. You think he’s talking to you at first, but then Trip’s hands are on you and you’re slammed to the coffee table and you’re aware that his words were, in fact, directed to Trip. You grunt as you land palms— and cheek—first against the hard white wood of your sleek coffee table. You always liked this table. It’s stylish. You’ve never seen it this close before.

            Your pants are down before you can do much else and Trip fingers the hem of your thigh highs from behind. You’re both on your knees.

            “Cute,” he mutters. His voice is louder than you expect it and you realize his lips are much closer to your ears than you thought. You manage to pull yourself up a bit and your toes are digging into the carpet and your head can crane up just enough to see Virus watching from the couch. You look away immediately and feel Trip rip the socks off. It forces you forward enough to ram the edge of the table into your gut and you groan.

            “A bit gentler,” Virus says from above you and you let your head fall down. “Unless Noiz-san wants it rougher?”

            “I don’t care,” you mumble. All you really want is for them to wreck you. They can do that without beating the hell out of you, but you don’t really care about that either way. It’s not like you’d be able to tell.

            “You don’t care?” Virus repeats back to you and this is it. It’s coming. You don’t know why they indulge you. You don’t know why they took an interest in you. It’s been two weeks since they fucked you in your bedroom and you thought you’d never see them again but here they are. They found you in the alleyway – you were hanging around Dry Juice territory because you like to fuck with Koujaku and he’s always with that Mizuki guy – and they didn’t have to say a word. Trip smiled at you and Virus nodded his head in the direction of your place and you followed. You followed them to your own apartment. This was fucked up from the start.

            “Just fuck me,” you say finally and Trip’s hands are big and hot and gruff against your chest as he reaches around you and pulls you backwards. He rips the buttons off your shirt and yanks it off your arms. It’s so sudden and vicious that it takes your breath away. He reaches for the hem of your undershirt and removes it too as Virus clicks his teeth.

            “Noiz-san, why is it that you like to have us over?”

            Fuck. You don’t have an answer for that. At least, not one that you want to give. You don’t want to tell them that you can’t connect with anyone because you’re starting to think the same is true of them and anything that relates you to them is too terrifying. You don’t want to tell them that you hate yourself and you just want to make sure you’re correct; you want the validation that you’re unlovable and you want the certainty that your parents had the right idea all along. You don’t want to tell them that when it comes down to it, honestly you’re scared. You’re just scared.

            “To _fuck_ me,” you breathe as Trip’s fingers dance along the elastic of your neon green briefs and when you give them that answer he takes it as the go ahead to wrench them down to your knees and you bring your arms back far enough to dig your palms into the edge of the table, and jut your elbows backward enough to use as weapons if you have to. Trip’s hand flashes in front of you as he grabs the bottle of lube from your side and pulls it back. You hear him uncap it and you don’t mean to snarl but you do. Virus sighs and pours himself another glass of wine. Did he already drink a whole glass?

            “Why do you choose _us?_ ” he asks and you’re bracing for Trip’s finger but it doesn’t come.

            “You’re the only ones depraved enough to fuck a kid,” you growl. You hope that will antagonize Trip enough to put his finger in you but he remains still.

            “Well,” Virus says and you can hear the laughter in his voice. “You’re nineteen. You’re more than capable of making your own decisions. So I’ll ask you again. Why do you choose _us_?”

            You don’t want to answer. You _do_ want to answer, but you want them to pull it out of you. You want them to reduce you to nothing. You’re getting hard just thinking about it.

            “I like getting tag teamed by two ugly guys,” you huff with amusement. You finally feel Trip’s fingers but they’re not inside you; they’re in your hair and they pull your head back sharply and you yelp, not because it hurts but because it’s so sudden. Virus laughs as you feel Trip’s breath against your neck and you’re surprised he thought you were serious. It’s not like either Virus or Trip is particularly your type, but they’re not unattractive. Then it occurs to you that if Trip is trying to look like Virus, he might be reacting more in defense of Virus than himself. He _is_ dyeing his hair; you figured that out last time. How sweet. How fucking bizarre and sweet.

            “I feel as though you are still lying,” Virus says. His voice is airy, as if he’s joking around with a close friend. It’s nerve-wracking. “I think I know why you come to us.”

            Your head is still wrenched back and you’re gripping the sides of the coffee table so tight your knuckles turn white. You grit your teeth at him.

            “Fucking enlighten me,” you say. You meet Virus’s gaze and he narrows his eyes as he locks them on you.

            “Because we’re the only ones who will have sex with you.”

            “Wrong,” you spit. “Lots of people like fucking me.”        

            It’s true, too. You’ve never had any shortage of people who you barely have to speak to before you can get them back to your place or vice versa. But they’re usually pretty decent people, even if they’re into some kinky shit and aren’t particularly interested in seeing you again. Virus and Trip are the only ones who are fucked up enough to do _this_ to you. They’re the only ones as fucked up as you.

            “And we like – ha – fucking you,” Virus says, chuckling before he swears, as if he’s a fucking toddler. “But I get the feeling – that we’re the only ones who will _fuck_ you the way you want someone to.”

            You don’t say anything. Trip eventually shoves your head forward again, this time slamming it against the table and holding it there.

            “Noiz-san,” Virus says carefully, his voice much darker now in the stale air. “Did you like what we did last time?”

            You still can’t answer. Did you like calling them _“Daddy?”_ No, of course not. That was the fucking point.

            “Do you want to do that again?” Trip’s low voice grumbles from behind you and you shut your eyes so tight you see stars. You grimace as he shakes your head back and forth, prompting you to answer.

            “ _No_ ,” you breathe finally. Virus sighs.

            “Well,” he says, leaning forward and taking the wine bottle again. Seriously? A third glass already? “In that case, we won’t. We wouldn’t want to do anything that you don’t want us to.”

            And that’s it. That’s how they get you. They’re going to make you admit it. They’re going to make you say out loud what you want them to do, and that’s just as humiliating as what you want them to do to you.

            “Go ahead,” Virus says and you know that’s not good. You know that’s a signal but you can’t react before Trip’s finger is inside you and at least it’s well coated in lube this time. It enters you far too quickly, but you’re somewhat grateful that you can at least sort of feel it. You grunt and Trip laughs. He works it around inside of you but never pulls it out. You try to make your body relax so it can adjust to it because you’re sure Trip is not going to go slow.

            “Noiz-san,” Virus calls. “Are you – absolutely sure you don’t want to do what we did before? No pressure, of course.”

            This fucking dick is giving you a second chance, blanketed in false promises of an anxiety-free environment, but you all know that’s not true. You’re feeling _very_ stressed to either tell them what you want or risk them just fucking you like everyone else does and then leaving. And probably never coming back again. You take a deep breath and Trip teases your hole with another finger just before you say it:

            “No, Daddy.”

            “Ah,” Virus fusses and you grunt when Trip sticks all three fingers in at once. You try to pull away from the pressure but it’s pointless. Trip’s fingers follow you. “I thought you might feel that way. Why didn’t you tell the truth to begin with, Noiz-san?”

            You hate the way he says your name, as if it’s some proper, God-given fucking name and not just your Rhyme nickname or any other fucking thing that wasn’t the name handed down to you from your father. You wanted nothing more than to rid yourself of the name of your father; you didn’t even care what people called you, names were just noises. Call you whatever, you said. Names are just noises. You’re just noise. You’re just Noiz.

            “I don’t know, _Daddy_ ,” you say immediately and it feels so fucking wrong and perverted and perfect. You swear you can feel your chest lighten with the words.

            “You were embarrassed, weren’t you?” Virus coos as if you were a young child. “That’s okay. That’s why we’re here.”

            Apparently Virus wants an answer because when you stay quiet, he repeats himself.

            “Were you embarrassed?”

            “Yes, _Daddy_ ,” you mumble, pressing your face into your hands to stifle your words. Trip’s fingers are gone suddenly and they’re back in your head, pulling your head up and forcing you up.

            “Look at him when you answer him,” he says quietly, as if he doesn’t actually care, he’s just giving you basic instructions. When you don’t repeat yourself, he pushes your head forward and pulls it back gruffly.

            “ _Yes, Daddy_ ,” you say, and you don’t even know which one you’re talking to anymore, but then Trip’s grip is gone and you fall forward again, using your forearms to brace yourself against the table. You can hear Trip’s belt buckle and it’s so loud you swear it’s deafening and all you can do is stare into the wood of the table. You’ve never felt this way before and you’re not even exactly sure how you feel. You feel awful. But you love it.

            “Noiz-san,” Virus’s voice calls quietly from your side and you’re startled. He’s crouching down next to you and his eyes are so close and so scrutinizing that you’re actually scared; _actually scared,_ not just nervous or unsure, you’re suddenly so terrified that you start to breathe quicker and there may be tears in your eyes. You look up at him, painfully aware of the ragged air you’re exhaling in spurts and maybe this isn’t completely broken – maybe you aren’t a complete mess, yet – but this is the closest you’ve ever gotten. Trip grabs your hips and you feel him position his cock at your entrance but you can only stare at Virus.

            “Yes, Daddy?” you almost sob.

            “There’s no need to be embarrassed with us,” he says, and his words are chilling. He’s comforting you but somehow he manages to make it sound like more of a threat than anything. “We’ll do whatever you want.”

            You nod slowly at him, wondering exactly what he means. Is he saying you can ask them for anything? You can ask them to tie you up and fuck you until you’ve come six times? You can ask them to tie you up and tease you until they leave you there, naked and still wanting? You can ask them to beat the shit out of you?

            Can you ask them to love you? Can you ask them to be nice to you? Can you ask them to at least say nice things, even if they don’t mean them? Things you’ve never been told before?

            You’re still nodding, still staring into Virus’s soulless eyes when Trip rams into you and your eyes wrench shut and you turn your head away, falling forward and groaning at the pressure. There’s still some lube inside you but he obviously didn’t use any on his dick and you can tell. What is with people on the island not understanding how lubrication works?

            “Give him a moment,” Virus says and his voice is quiet and almost angry. It’s his ‘giving Trip instructions’ voice and you recognize it well at this point. Trip hums from the back of his throat and you bet he’s staring doe-eyed at Virus but you can’t open your eyes to check. For some reason, imagining what they’re doing right now makes it easier for your body to relax and when your shoulders droop a little, Virus says, “Go ahead,” and Trip pulls out slowly. You inhale just as slow and when he rams back in, you gasp. That’s not going to be hard enough, though.

            “Fast,” you grunt. Trip’s fingers tighten. You open your eyes in time to see Virus nod at him and Trip shifts on his knees a bit and then he pulls out again and shoves forward. He starts a quick pace of rough, deep thrusts and he’s so fucking brutish, he’s so big and clumsy and it’s exactly what you need to feel anything. You hate that Trip of all people is turning out to be your ideal sex partner, so you choose instead to focus on every time he brushes your prostate with the tip of his dick. It actually feels _good_ after a while, and even if this is only a tenth of what normal people feel, you don’t have any comparison, so you relish it while you can.    

            You lift your head up and open your mouth, letting out whatever little noises escape your mouth. It’s mostly air caught in the back your throat that Trip pushes out every time he shoves in and this is the first time you’ve ever felt like you were actually in one of the despicable pornos you watch. Virus pours another glass of wine as he watches. He doesn’t seem to be getting any sexual pleasure from it, he’s simply an audience but you don’t feel particularly pressured to put on a show. He brings the wine glass to his lips and you wonder how many that’s been for him. He seems to be drinking quickly and you’re surprised there’s even any left.

            “Good?” Trip asks suddenly and you’re taken off guard. You weren’t expecting him to check in on you.

            “Um,” you stutter, “can you – deeper?”

            He doesn’t respond verbally but he seems to take it to heart and he starts pounding against your prostate more, angling his dick higher and the sound of his skin slapping against your ass is so loud and lewd and you love it more and more with each passing second.

            “Are you going to come, Noiz-san?” Virus asks and you nod vigorously, a high-pitched, _“Uh-huh,”_ escaping your lips. You don’t care how desperate you sound, this is rough and fast and deep and one of the best fucks you’ve ever had.

            “Uh-huh,” Trip grunts mockingly between labored breaths. “Uh-huh, _what?”_

“Please remember the protocol, Noiz-san,” Virus adds. At first you’re confused but then you remember. Of course.

            “Yes, Daddy.”

            “Are you close?”

            “ _Yes_ , Daddy,” you whimper, and you think that’s going to be the end of it, but then Virus is just inches from your face and you shout slightly when he speaks.

            “Does this make you happy, Noiz-san?” he asks quietly, his eyes boring holes into you. For a second you forget you’re being fucked. “Do you like this? Being told what to do? Does it make you happy?”

            You can’t answer other than to whine uncontrollably and your eyebrows furrow as you frown. You hold eye contact with him as you’re thrust forward immeasurably.

            “Do you wish more people would simply tell you what to do? Do you feel overwhelmed? Do you know what to do? Or do you need someone to tell you?”

            You press your ass backwards into Trip subconsciously and suddenly he wraps his hand around your dick and digs his nails in under the head. You cry out, into Virus’s face, and try not to let out any other sounds (you fail, of course; you can’t stop whimpering).

            “We’re more than willing to help you,” Virus continues, reaching out and holding your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. He doesn’t pull or grab like Trip; in fact, he starts to stroke your face softly with his thumb. “We’ll be happy to tell you what to do.”

            Trip drags his nails down your dick and that paired with a sudden, harsh thrust against your prostate is what pushes you over the edge and you shut your eyes, cry out louder than ever, and bury your head in your arms. Trip keeps his nails buried in your dick and his own cock buried in your ass as you come against the side of the table, practically humping it as you push against it and back against Trip’s cock through your orgasm. It’s a good one: though you know it’s probably dull comparatively, it starts in your ass and shoots toward your dick, then you feel little sparks around your pelvis. You wonder if you were normal if it would travel all the way to your toes and your fingers and your head, if you’d ever experience the toe-curling orgasm everyone else talks about. But this is fine. You wouldn’t know otherwise anyway.

            When the feeling dissipates, you’re left to sweat and drool and whimper against the table, your head still buried in your arm as Trip finishes up himself. His thrusts change; they’re shallow and blunt now, and he comes inside you a few minutes later with a shuddering growl. You don’t know where Virus is. You don’t have the guts to check, but when Trip pulls out you realize you’re going to have to emerge sometime.

            When you finally look up and lean backwards, Trip is tucking himself back in his pants and zipping himself up when you look behind you and you don’t know where Virus is. You need to catch your breath so you sit awkwardly at your table, legs bent at the knee and come dripping everywhere. It’s between the back of your thighs and your calves, all over your dick and stomach and you don’t even think you want to clean up. You just want to stew in your own disgusting filth all night.

            Virus suddenly emerges from the kitchen and gives you a smile so quaint and frightening that an outsider would think he’d just had a pleasant dinner at your house (unless, of course, they saw you naked and come-covered on your own living room floor).

            “I put your wine back,” he says, tucking his arms behind his back. “I do apologize, I drank a fair amount, but we’ll pay you back.”

            You shake your head, bewildered, at the frank conversation and shrug at him.

            “It’s – fine. Okay. Whatever,” you say. Then Trip is behind you again, his lips at your ear and a smile in his voice.

            “We’ll pay you back when we see you again,” he says and Virus closes his eyes slowly. He’s annoyed.

            “Yes,” he says, opening them and walking toward you. “That was, in fact, my implication.” He takes small strides to the front door and he beckons Trip to him but turns to you again before he leaves. He doesn’t say anything right away so you throw your hands up at him.

            “What?”

            “You’re a very interesting individual, Noiz-san,” he says. Trip looks at him suddenly and then starts to glare at you. At least, you think Trip is glaring. You still can’t tell with him but that must have struck a nerve.

            “Thanks,” you say sarcastically. “So are you guys. If by ‘interesting’ you mean ‘fucked up and weird.’”

            “That’s not what I mean,” Virus smiles. “We’ll see you.”

            They’re gone before you can say anything else and after a few seconds of heavy breathing, everything catches up to you. The fear, that very genuine fear of Virus’s eyes when they studied you; the word “ _Daddy,”_ and how you feel so much lighter when that shameful term leaves your lips; how quickly and how accurately Virus pinned you for what you were: a scared little kid who doesn’t know what to do. A scared little kid with no mommy or daddy or anyone. You have fucking no one, because you don’t know how to ask anyone to connect with you. You don’t know how to relate to anyone and you don’t want to start crying so you stand up, wobble a little bit as you gain your balance – your legs are weak from holding yourself up and straining your muscles.

            You decide instead of sitting here, alone, like usual, you should drink. And Virus drank all your wine, so you need to go out. You can’t connect with anyone, but maybe a crowded bar will overload your senses enough to make you forget what just happened, and Black Needle is the perfect bar on Friday nights for a few drinks and maybe a punch or two from Koujaku. That sounds great right now. You could really go for a punch in the face.

 

* * *

 

            You’re still trying to convince yourself that those blond assholes haven’t broken you, not yet, by the time you’re nursing your third drink at Black Needle. They haven’t gotten you to break down into nothingness just yet. Unfortunately, Koujaku is nowhere to be seen, which is disappointing because it’s somewhat crowded and you were hoping to pick a fight. You love throwing playground insults – not that you’d know what a playground is like – and seeing Koujaku react like a child. You love the knit in his brow when he turns furious. It’s cute. You love how big he becomes. It’s like he grows three times his size when he gets angry and you imagine his big arms around you, pinning you to the wall or holding you down on the bed or cuddling you from behind protectively, whatever. It’s all fine.

            Mizuki is around but he hasn’t noticed you yet. He’s always been somewhat indifferent to you. You know he hates Rhymers but after Rhyme’s dissolution following Toue’s demise, he seems to be a lot tamer about the Rhyme versus Rib debate. You’ve never really cared one way or the other about the superiority of the teams. All you know is that Rhyme allowed for pain and that was enough for you.

            Sometimes Mizuki comes behind the bar and makes a few drinks but there’s someone else serving customers. You can see the back room that serves as the actual tattoo parlor still has a light on. If memory serves you correctly, Mizuki usually shuts the curtain and turns the light off by the time the bar picks up on weekends. You lean back and scan the room. There’s still no sign of Koujaku. And now there’s no sign of Mizuki. You down the rest of your drink and stand up. You want to find him.

            Maybe if you poke around enough you can find something still buried deep inside him. Maybe he still cares a lot more about Rhyme than he lets on. It would be easy enough to rile him up by simply mentioning Scrap, or maybe even just Aoba; definitely mentioning Aoba’s grandmother would get him going.

            But you really don’t want to remind him of those things and you can’t really figure out why. You don’t know Mizuki. You don’t owe him anything. He doesn’t owe you anything, for that matter, but there’s something about him that makes you feel like you need to apologize to him. Maybe it’s outright pity, you’re not sure. He went through Hell when Aoba fucked up his Scrap and he went through Hell in the hospital afterward, too. He was in a coma, that much you know for sure, and you’ve always heard that comas are like being alive and being present, but not really being able to feel anything. You laugh out loud and stop your train of thought right there. You really don’t need to get your hopes up right now. You’re a little vulnerable after Virus and Trip (that’s an understatement, you’re sure), and you could probably convince yourself that Mizuki could possibly relate to you. You’re being a big enough dumbass right now for that, at least.

            You approach the curtain that’s haphazardly pulled halfway across the entrance to the tattoo parlor and before you can give it a second thought, you push it away and there’s Mizuki, sitting in a tattoo chair, his back to you. He has something in his hands but you can’t see what. He turns around, startled, when the rings of the curtain clatter against the metal pole they hang on and you’re expecting him to frown or yell or roll his eyes but he doesn’t do any of that. His eyes look red – not like he was crying, but like he was close. And then he smiles.

            “Noiz?”

            You pause but eventually nod your head.

            “Hey.”

            “Can – can I help you?”

            You’re a little surprised he isn’t immediately giving you shit but then it occurs to you that this is the first time you’ve ever spoken to him without Koujaku around. Maybe Koujaku brings out the worst in him. The thought makes you smirk. You wouldn’t doubt it. Koujaku brings out the worst in everyone.

            You shrug at him. You came here to try to start a fight but he just looks too vulnerable right now. You’re not sure why you give a shit, though.

            “Well – is everything okay?”

            You’re a little drunk so you’re wondering if you heard him right. Did he just ask you if you were okay? Did you just give a shit about you at all? It was a formality, right? _Exchanging pleasantries_ , you think the term is.

            “I’m fine,” you sneer. “Just wanted to know why you were sitting in here like a loser all by yourself.”

            Mizuki laughs lightly, as if he’s amused by your insult. He’s not supposed to be amused. He’s supposed to be angry. He’s supposed to stand up and stalk toward you and throw an insult your way too and then you’re supposed to respond with something way too personal and then he shoves you against the wall and punches you. Usually people either punch you or fuck you. You assume Mizuki would punch you. You’d take either from him.

            “I can’t really leave my own bar,” he shrugs, and he turns back to whatever’s in his hand. Is it a picture? “But sometimes it gets a little rowdy out there for me, you know?”

            You do know. There’s too much stimulation here. That’s why you came.

            When he turns back to you, you nod. He puts down the object in his hand on the table next to the chair. It _is_ a picture. It’s a framed tattoo design but it just looks like scribbles to you.

            “It’s loud,” you mumble. It’s the best you can come up with at the moment but he smiles at you.

            “You can sit in here too if you need a minute,” he says. “I won’t bother you.”

            He gestures to one of the other tattoo stations and you figure you should take him up on it if he’s offering. But you’re still a little confused.

            “Really?” you ask as you head to the chair. “You don’t have any smartass thing to say about Rhyme? Or my age? Or my accent?”

            Mizuki laughs nervously as you fling yourself into the chair and sprawl out against it. It’s like a dentists’ chair. It’s comfortable. You weren’t expecting that.

            “Seems petty, you know?”

            “Doesn’t seem so petty to you when Koujaku’s around.”

            Now Mizuki raises an eyebrow and gives you a little smirk.

            “Well, you’re terrible to Koujaku,” he says, and he looks you straight in the eye when he says it. He’s not afraid of you. “You have to stick up for your friends, you know?”

            “I don’t know that, no,” you say. “I don’t have any friends.” His smile suddenly furrows into a frown and he looks away.

            “Well, I’m sorry about that,” he mumbles.

            “Why?” you ask. “It’s not your fault.”

            He shrugs and gives a heavy sigh. Then you realize his eyes aren’t red because he was going to cry. He’s drunk.

            “I know it’s not my fault. Doesn’t mean feeling alone doesn’t suck.”

            “I don’t feel alone,” you correct. “I _am_ alone. I don’t _feel_ anything.”

            “Well,” he says again as he stands up. He’s already given up on you. That’s hilarious. “Whatever the case is, I’m sorry you feel shitty. You can sit back here as long as you need to.”

            “Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?”

            “No,” Mizuki frowns. “Why would I?”

            “You don’t think I just came to fuck with you or Koujaku or something?”

            He looks around the room, obviously a little confused.

            “Well, I didn’t think that until you said it...”

            “What did you think I came here to do?”

            “I don’t know,” he says, walking toward the curtain. “Drink? Hang out? What else should I have thought?”

            His immediate answer wasn’t a sarcastic, _“To get on my nerves,”_ or an innuendo like, “ _Find someone just as slutty as yourself?”_ His initial thought was that you were here, at a bar, on a Friday night, to drink. And to “hang out.” With people. To, you know, connect. His initial thought was that you were normal.

            Your heart drops through to your stomach when you realize that and Mizuki’s pulling back the curtain to leave when he looks back at you and takes a deep breath.

            “I guess it makes sense though,” he shrugs, “that you just wanted to fuck with Koujaku. But he’s not here tonight. So if you want to just come hang out, I’ll be out there. I’ll make you a drink.”

            And then he leaves. He goes back out to his bar, to his friends and his Rib team and his alcohol and he’s the most normal person in the world at that moment and the fact that he thought you were normal too is –

            You get up and hurry out of the bar. You don’t stop to look around and you hope Mizuki doesn’t see you rush away. Who does he think he is, treating you like you’re just some guy? Like you’re just someone who deserves anything like a friend? Like you’re just a regular person, who would come to a bar on a Friday night and would be given a free drink by the bar owner. Well, to be fair, that’s happened before, but he expected a blowjob in return. That’s probably what Mizuki’s game was, too, you realize. Too bad for him, you’re not going to give in to that. If you don’t take the drink, you’re not indebted to his dick.

            You wish you had Virus or Trip’s numbers. It’s only been a couple hours since you saw them, but you wish you could call them up and do a round two. They just want to fuck with you. They give you the shame and self-loathing you want and in return you give them the plaything they obviously desire. That’s a good relationship. That’s the one you’re going to pursue. Not because you want it to develop into anything real, but because you definitely don’t want it to die. What’s Mizuki going to give you? A free drink and a pat on the back? Who even is Mizuki? He’s just your placeholder for Koujaku anyway, and you hope he comes back soon. He wouldn’t pull this, “ _You’re a normal guy, come have a drink,”_ bullshit on you. Fuck Mizuki and fuck tonight.

            You go home and you down the rest of the Moscato and then you drop the bottle on the floor. It doesn’t shatter like you think it will. Even the wine bottle can keep its shit together better than you.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPS (pairings include Noijaku, beginnings of Mizunoiz)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want to note again before u read this that everything in this fic is so experimental and i havent timeline'd this at all which is REALLY rare for me so take it all with a grain of salt

            The first time you fuck Koujaku is nothing like the first time you fucked Virus and Trip.

            You walk into Black Needle on a Wednesday afternoon, about two weeks after the last time you saw the two blonds in your living room, and there’s enough self-hatred and rage seething under the surface of your skin that you’re afraid it might boil over when you’re alone, which you know from experience only ends in untended injuries and scars that you didn’t know you were making. So when you see that Koujaku already looks a little irritated, you figure he’s a safe bet to tide you over until you can see the fake twins again.

            You’re really just looking for a punch or two in the face – Koujaku is immeasurably strong, and once he knocked your head back so far that you bit your tongue and it was the most pain you’d felt in years. It was beautiful and magical and everything you’ve ever wanted and you’ve jerked off to the memory of that sensation so many times since then you’ve lost count. That memory gets you off faster than any fake scenario you can come up with in your imagination. Biting your own tongue on purpose just doesn’t compare.

            He’s talking to Mizuki, who blows your cover as you’re walking up behind him. You thought it might be fun to “pat Koujaku on the back,” which of course would have translated physically into “punching him in the neck,” but he sees you when he turns around after Mizuki nods in greeting. You roll your eyes a bit but Mizuki doesn’t relent; he offers you a drink and you scowl at him and take the stool next to Koujaku. An awkward silence falls between the three of you and Mizuki sighs and mumbles something about taking care of something in the back room, leaving you to antagonize Koujaku all you like.

            It’s surprisingly easy to rile him up this time. All you have to do is mention his mother once and he’s already standing up and rushing you against a wall. You suggest that you take it out to the alleyway and he shoves you outside, growling like a feral animal the whole time. He’s not using any words that you can discern, he’s just a mess of spit and angry howls and when you grab the front of his kimono and position your face in front of his he stares into your eyes. His own eyes are crazy and wide and wild and to be honest you’ve never seen him _this_ angry before. You figure you’re at the best position for his fist to connect with your nose, maybe crack your skull back enough for your teeth to clamp down on your tongue again, but he stops suddenly and simply breathes heavily as he stares at you.

            You throw a lousy come-on at him – something like, _“What, you gonna keep staring or you wanna suck it?” –_ and you’re surprised when he actually takes you up on it.

You do this all the time. You hit on him every time you see him and he thinks it’s a big joke. No matter how many times you tell him you’re serious, he thinks you’re fucking with him. He thinks you’re challenging his sexuality or some macho-bullshit like that, but you’re genuine. You’d really fuck him if he wanted to – and apparently he does this time.

            But when he kisses you, it’s not brutal and forceful like you expect (not like Trip); it’s _gentle_ and you weren’t expecting that from him, especially not in his current state. He grips the sides of your face and you feel like you’re in a movie. This is how couples in love always kiss in movies, isn’t it? He pushes you back toward the industrial dumpsters and that’s where he fucks you: amidst all the bags of corporate garbage. You’re aware of the metaphor, but you choose not to mention it.

            He has a condom and you have lotion, so it’s much easier on your body than when Virus and Trip fuck you, and he doesn’t even come inside of you. You both keep as many clothes on as possible, but he gets you on your back, propped against the dumpster so your stomach folds as he bends you, fucks you into the dumpster and runs his hands along your face and hair the whole time. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was almost being romantic, here, amongst the trash.

            He grunts and growls and it’s kind of funny but also sort of sexy and all you can do is breathe in spurts as he fucks the air out of you, sort of like Trip did, but this isn’t quite as degrading as Virus and Trip. You feel dirty, you feel like you deserve to be fucked here, but he’s not humiliating you. This is probably a hatefuck, but he doesn’t seem to hate you while he’s doing it. That’s sort of nice. You’re not sure you’ve ever had sex with anyone who’s ever felt anything but pure, seething rage or calm and unadulterated indifference towards you. This sort of middle ground is…

            You stop your train of thought there because this is _Koujaku_ , and even if he proclaimed an undying love for you tomorrow, you wouldn’t be able to _date_ him. The thought is preposterous but when you come all over your own shirt, images of early mornings and Koujaku in an apron bringing you breakfast in bed pop into your mind. You come to the thought of domestic bliss when you fuck Koujaku, and you’ll admit – you were expecting this to happen eventually, but that part throws you for a loop.

            He scampers away after he comes and realizes the situation he’s in. You take some time to collect yourself – retie your tie, wipe the come off your shirt with a used napkin from the dumpster, fix your hair and hat and roll your shoulders back a few times to work out the kinks from that awful position. Your shirt is stained and you’re pretty sure it’s quite obvious what it is, but you don’t care. You go back into Black Needle and Koujaku isn’t there. Mizuki notices you and asks you if you’re okay. Then he looks around and knits his brow and asks where Koujaku is. You’re about to answer when it strikes you that he asked you if you’re okay before he asks where his best friend is. When you realize that, your throat closes up. You can’t answer.

            You shrug and you shake your head like you’re having a stroke and you can tell by his furrowed brow that you’re sort of freaking him out but he’s sort of freaking you out, too. You weren’t ready for so much affection in one day, even if some of it did come in the form of sex on a dumpster. You run out and you hurry home and the first thing you think to do is check the scrap of paper that has your brother’s number on it in your bedside table drawer. You wanted to have it, so you wrote it down and tucked it away somewhere safe; you didn’t program it into your Coil because that might make it _too_ easy to call him. You tend not to get drunk too often, so you’re not worried about drunk dialing him, but the idea of calling him when you’re a _sober_ wreck is worse.

            You sit on your bed, holding the paper in your hands for almost an hour, simply staring at it. You already know you’re not going to call, but you go over the conversation you might have in your head. You’d say, _“It’s me,”_ and he might use your real name because he’s surprised, he hasn’t heard from you in years. You might tell him that you just got fucked next to a pile of garbage and you hate the guy who did it with a passion but it wasn’t bad. Or you might tell him that sometimes you get tag teamed by these two psychos who may end up murdering you one day but you can’t get enough of it. You could tell him that once you knew a guy with bright blue hair and you kissed him in a junk shop because he seemed like someone you could get to know, like someone you might like to try to connect with, but he left with someone bigger and better than you. Maybe you’ll tell him about the guy at the bar who wants to make you a free drink every time he sees you.

            Your mind wanders to Mizuki and you get the crazy idea that he might actually just be offering you a free drink and nothing more. It’s insane, you’re sure, to think that he might be the ever-elusive “selfless person;” he’d be the first one you’ve ever met. You didn’t think they actually existed. They’re about as real to you as ghosts, but Mizuki definitely exists.

            You’re a little surprised that Mizuki has burrowed his way into your subconscious this much. It’s no shock that your brain wanders to Virus and Trip almost daily; it’s fairly normal that Koujaku pops in there every now and then; it even makes enough sense that you still think about Aoba at times. You’ve sort of always needed to live inside your own head so you’re fairly used to the things that get caught in there.

            Mizuki shouldn’t be one of them.

            You jump up and shove the phone number back in your bedside table and head for the front door. You grab a hoodie and pull your shirt over your head and drop it in the washer on the way out and then pause a moment and throw your hat in too. You put the hoodie on and run a hand through your hair as you head out the door and back to Black Needle. It’s been a busy day. Home, bar, alleyway, home, bar again. You try to get out your door fast enough that you don’t second-guess yourself; you have to do that a lot. Most of the significant events of your life have happened because you acted on instinct – carefully planned, willful instinct, that is – and even some of the insignificant events have, too: leaving Germany, leaning in to kiss that girl in that bar your first night in Midorijima, breaking into Aoba’s room that night a year ago, and now going to Black Needle to take Mizuki up on that free drink.

            When you get inside you immediately look around for Koujaku but he hasn’t come back yet. Mizuki’s behind the bar still, leaning on an elbow and talking to a Dry Juice member somewhat unenthusiastically. He looks so nonchalant and it’s hard for you to believe that this is the person who thought _you_ were normal. He looks like he’d know normal when he sees it. Then you remember what he’s been through and you figure if that didn’t fuck him up beyond repair, then nothing probably will.

            He can’t ignore you when you trudge up to the bar and sit down two seats away from the man he’s talking to. You stare at him directly and he gives you a small smile and a nod and it’s still the indifference that gets to you most: he doesn’t hate you, he’s not trying to push you out, and he’s not rushing to you and showering you with fake compliments. He puts up a finger to you and the man makes eye contact with you for a second and then turns back to Mizuki and shrugs. Your eyes follow Mizuki as he taps the bar in front of him and then takes the few steps toward you. He leans over the bar on his forearms and smiles at you and for a second your words are caught in your throat. He’s really attractive. You’ve always known that, but it takes you by force right now and your voice cracks when you finally speak up:

            “I thought I might take you up on that free drink,” you say, cocking your head to the side.

            “You seen Koujaku?” he asks, squinting his eyes at you as if he’s suspicious, but still smiling. “The last time I saw him he was talking to you. Then he disappeared. Did you finally murder him?”

            “No,” you nod. “We went outside to fuck. Then he ran away. From his feelings, probably.”

            “Hilarious,” Mizuki monotones, and you smirk at him. There’s never a better way to get someone off your back than to tell the truth. Then he pulls a glass out from under the bar and puts it in front of you.

            “What do you want?”

            You look at the tumbler and then back at him. You still wonder what he wants from you. You’re not sure if you’re up for more sex today but you could probably blow him if he’d go for that.

            “Something sweet,” you say and he nods at you, takes the glass and you don’t know what he makes but he hands it to you and stands there with an expectant look, his eyebrows raised and arms crossed. His shoulders are really broad, you notice.

            You take a sip and it’s fruity and strong and he nods at you.

            “Like it?”

            “What is it?”

            “It’s a secret,” he grins. “How would I get repeat customers if I told them what to make?”

            You can tell by his tone, airy and distracted, that it’s a joke but you sit back on the stool and quirk an eyebrow up at him.

            “I thought this one was free,” you say.

            “Yeah,” he laughs, grabbing a rag from under the bar. He’s so _casual_ and _sane_ and he’s _talking to you_ like you’re _friends_ or something and it’s so _confusing_. “It doesn’t really apply to you, I guess. It’s amaretto and coke.”

            “Doesn’t apply to me?” you ask immediately. You don’t understand. What doesn’t apply to you? “What does that mean?”

            “Oh, I – ” He looks at you nervously, a tic in his cheek apparent as he mulls over his words. “You know that you can like – you can drink here for free, you know.”

            “I can?” you ask. Why? Why the fuck would you get to drink here for free? You don’t know Mizuki. Doesn’t Mizuki hate you? Of course, you realize he doesn’t hate you, but it’s still a baffling flip; he never cared for you before and again, you’re sure that it’s because Rhyme is more or less dissolved now, and not as much of a threat or maybe he’s just had some sort of life-changing epiphany in the past year or so. You wouldn’t doubt that, with everything that happened.

            “You know, all you guys can. Koujaku usually did anyway but…” he trails off to think again for a few seconds. “I mean, I guess Mink’s not around anymore. Clear comes by sometimes but he doesn’t drink. You just didn’t seem interested in trying to mend things…”

            “What are you talking about?”

            He shifts his weight and folds his arms again. God, that really makes his shoulders look huge. You are _really_ distracted by them. He opens his mouth again but your eyes are on the loops on the shoulders of his jacket.

            “You were a part of that group,” he says and it suddenly clicks with you that he’s being serious, he’s referencing Morphine and Platinum Jail and everything from a year ago and your eyes dart to his immediately. He’s thanking you. That’s why he doesn’t hate you anymore. He shrugs. “It’s the least I could do.”

            That’s it. It’s the least he could do. You save his life; he lets you drink for free at his bar. You track him down and force him into a coma; he pretends to be your friend. And now you’re even. So you were right, this _was_ an exchange of services; it was just the other way around. He doesn’t want anything from you. He already got what he wanted and now he’s paying you back. So he’s not really the selfless prince you feared he might be.

            You smirk, huff out a laugh and look down at your drink.

            “What?” he asks. He seems concerned.

            “Nothing,” you say. You take the glass and down the rest of the liquid. It’s sostrong that you almost gag but you manage to suppress it. “So, are we even now?”

            He furrows his eyebrows at you and grips the bar anxiously.

            “What do you mean?” he asks. “Why would we be even? Even for what?”

            “You don’t want anything?” you ask. “You don’t want to go in the bathroom and let me get on my knees? Or the backroom? I can ride you if you want – ”

            “Holy shit, what are you talking about?” he interrupts. “Are you talking about sex?”

            “ _Am I talking about sex,”_ you mock with a laugh. “Yeah, I am.”

            “Why?” he asks, jutting his face closer to yours. “What are you talking about? Why would I want to make you do that?”

            “Whatever,” you say, rolling your eyes. If he wants to play the part of chivalrous knight then you’ll let him but you’re not going to give in. “I’ll consent, you won’t be making me do it.”

            Mizuki’s eyes widen and he pokes his head even further toward you, almost like a turtle and then he checks nervously over his shoulder at the rest of the bar. He takes a few steps away from you but puts an arm out to usher you toward the end of the bar, away from everyone. You’re sort of disappointed because you were hoping he wasn’t going to take you up on anything, but this is fine, too. You’ll manage.

            “That’s not consent. If you think you have to be – hold on, I just, I don’t understand what you’re saying,” he tells you quietly as you both walk together but on either side of the bar. You meet him at the end and then he puts his arm around your shoulders. You freeze. You don’t mind that he’s touching you so much but you weren’t expecting it, at least not in this capacity and you hope that if he wants to fuck he just comes right out and says it. If you thought he really didn’t, you’d have backed away from his touch by now.

            “What don’t you – understand?” you almost stutter and he tilts his neck to try to look you in the eyes.

            “Have I done something that makes you think I want to have sex with you?” he asks. “I don’t mean to be insulting, but I never meant to come off that way toward you.”

            You open your mouth to speak but you don’t know quite what to say. You shake your head a little and finally all you can get out is a quiet, “Er – no,” and he takes his arm off you and cranes his neck around so you make eye contact with him. His eyes are the same color as your father’s. _Your_ eyes are the same color as your father’s. He nods enthusiastically and his face wrinkles as he studies you.

            “Okay, I just – I don’t want you getting the wrong idea,” he says. “I’m not trying to have sex with you.”

            You squint a little and while you were somewhat relieved before, now you’re sort of angry.

            “You don’t _want_ to have sex with me?”

            He looks away quickly, his neck practically snapping as he pulls it back and that’s when you first really notice the thick, black lines that cover his throat. That Morphine tattoo that once marred his skin is covered up and you suppose it looks as neat as possible, but it’s sort of a mess and you’re surprised you never noticed it before. You wonder how he looks in the mirror at the every day. How is he possibly this fucking collected after all that?

            “I didn’t – I mean, I didn’t say _that_ , necessarily,” he says and you’re ready to scoff and walk away but then you realize he didn’t rebuff you like you were expecting. He didn’t outright accept your offer either, but he’s smirking and looking away and the lights are low but you could swear that there’s a blush on his cheeks.

            “Are you – ” you start but he turns back and cuts you off with a grin.

            “But that’s not what I was talking to you about,” he tells you. “You know, you’re welcome here. I mean, I wish you’d stop giving Koujaku such a hard time, but…”

            “But?”

            He looks around the room nervously and then he sighs.

            “I guess he’s kind of immature sometimes,” he says quickly, and you surprising yourself by laughing as he follows up with, “but you really should be a little nicer to him. He’s been – through a lot, I guess.”

            You’d tell Mizuki that you don’t care what Koujaku’s been through, and you don’t, but something stops you from being that rude to Mizuki’s face. You roll your eyes and open your mouth to ask him again about the sex thing, does he really want to fuck you or no? Because you’re a little confused and just want to know for sure, but before you can say anything, he turns around and walks back to the bar without another word. You follow him, take your seat on the same stool as before and turn your head to check the crowd for Koujaku again. You don’t see him and when you look back, there’s another drink in front of you and Mizuki hovers on the other side of the bar.

            “Don’t you have other customers?” you ask.

            “I’m not the actual bartender,” he tells you, nodding to his side and you see someone else taking orders and making drinks.

            “Then why are you behind the bar?”

            He doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns and comes around the bar and takes the seat next to you, putting his elbow up on the counter and turning to face you. His eyes squint and there’s a hint of a smirk and you’re not sure what the hell he’s doing.

            “Don’t you have other friends to talk to?” you ask. He shrugs. God, his shoulders.

            “I see them every day,” he says. “Are you sure you haven’t seen Koujaku?”

            You smirk again and it’s two hours later before you realize you’ve been sitting here and talking to Mizuki all afternoon. He seems to be avoiding heavy subjects and usually you wouldn’t care, you’d bring something up just to poke at him and try to get him angry just for kicks, but then you see those bars on his throat again and you can’t. You still don’t trust him whatsoever, but you suppose you don’t need to act on that right now.

            He asks if you want to go out with everyone for dinner and your heart starts racing. You decline awkwardly and he sticks his hand out for a shake when you say you need to go home but you’ve never actually had to say goodbye to someone like this before so you take it weakly and when he pulls you in for a hug you push him away before you know what you’re doing. It’s not that you didn’t like it; you just weren’t expecting it. No one’s ever touched you like that before. You know it was just a hug but –

You stumble over an apology that you don’t even realize you’re giving and you don’t know what’s happened to you but you can’t keep your shit together. It’s like the wine bottle all over again. You suddenly feel very stupid but Mizuki smiles.

            “Sorry,” he says immediately. “I guess that was a little forward of me.”

            You still try to apologize, and you don’t fucking know why. You don’t know why you’re sorry but something in your gut keeps trying to apologize. He keeps smiling and he doesn’t seem at all put off. He walks you outside and waves goodbye, tells you to come back anytime and you swear if you could feel warmth, you would have felt it just then.

            You give one last look over your shoulder as you walk away and see that Dry Juice surrounds him as they figure out dinner plans and he looks every bit the part of fearless leader, but all you can think about is that you just had a two hour conversation with someone and they didn’t tell you to leave and never come back. They didn’t try to fuck you. They didn’t want anything from you, and you feel like your brain is on fire.

            Mizuki is probably the most dangerous person you know and you pray that on your way home you’ll run into Virus and Trip because you could really use them right now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i know i'm not supposed to point these things out but i just want to say that the subtlety that Noiz doesnt really mention his hookup with Koujaku is on purpose. like, if it feels like Noiz isn't acknowledging it, it's supposed to. also there's a lot of other subtle things but you're not dumb i trust you and i am grateful to you for reading i love you more than the moons and the tides


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noiz doesn't understand his feelings for Mizuki but he knows where he stands with Virus and Trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo yo yo CONTENT WARNINGS: (A) this isn't supposed to be an allusion to shota, simply referencing Noiz's childhood but it might make some people uncomfortable? possibly? (i'm not rly into shota so any similarities would be on accident) (B) Noiz has a bit of a dissociative episode and i KNOW that can trigger that in other people so be aware!! (C) just in general, Vitri is really fucked up ok? like this fic is. going to be really fucked up. with really heavy sexual themes so i just want to reiterate that. this is definitely 18+ man

            Your mom and dad were neglectful but they never actually harmed you. Maybe your dad used a few choice words about you, and maybe your mom never refuted him, but they never hurt or hit you. Your brother, in contrast, tried countless times to come to your aid; he never wanted you to leave Germany in the first place so as far as you’re concerned, he’s the only person you’ve ever known who was worth anything. Nevertheless, he’s not here now so you don’t need to give him much thought.

            You knew some people before what happened at Platinum Jail and you still know a lot of Ruff Rabbit, but your relationship with them has always been strictly business, and they’ve never seemed to want more than that. That’s fine by you. You don’t want more than that either. The people you’ve had sex with since coming to Midorijima have been countless and you can’t remember a lot of their names. Then again, you don’t think you knew most of their names to begin with, so it’s not as bad as it sounds. Or maybe it’s worse. You’re not sure. Whatever.

            You didn’t have much time to get to know Mink well before he ran off to Oval Tower with Aoba, but you imagine he doesn’t even remember your name by now. Clear never seemed to take any sort of interest in you, and even though something struck you as odd about him right off the bat, you didn’t really care for him, either. Koujaku and you had a much more violent dynamic, obviously, and even though it came to blows a few times, he never really injured you.

            Even Virus and Trip don’t threaten you. They’re a little terrifying, sure, but they’ve never truly wounded you. They’ve never done anything you didn’t ask them to do or you didn’t consent to, and that surprises you. You still don’t think they’re trustworthy – they’re obviously psychos, and you very much believe they may end up trying to murder you one day, but they haven’t yet, so you’re not scared of them.

            Aoba was kind. He caught you in his bedroom, his belongings strewn about, yet he managed to trust you, even a little bit and you’ve never forgotten that. Sometimes you forget that the day he trusted you was the day that you helped save his grandmother. You keep thinking about it as the day that you helped rescue Mizuki. You wish you could stop. You wish you could make it about Aoba’s grandmother again. Thinking about Mizuki makes it too romantic and you’re not one for that kind of drama.

            Which leads you to the part that scares you the most: Mizuki is the most dangerous person you know.

            Virus and Trip may have very little regard for your body, but that’s obviously not an issue for you. Koujaku may have very little regard for your feelings, but you don’t have any, so who cares?

            Mizuki, on the other hand, has very little regard for how much of a piece of shit you are and treats you like an equal anyway and that’s the most threatening thing anyone has ever done to you. It’s absolutely perilous, how much that sense of normalcy draws you in; it’s distressing, the amount of times that you’ve ended up at Black Needle this week – which is three, after the day you fucked Koujaku, so you’ve seen Mizuki four times this week already. And it’s all because something pulls you back; something beckons you to get off your ass at home and go back to Black Needle, and you’re pretty sure that something is Mizuki.

            He’s quiet when you’re speaking and he waits until you’re done with your sentences. Sometimes he even seems to wait a few more moments to make sure you’ve really finished, which is absolutely jarring. He’s true to his word: you drink for free, though you don’t tend to drink much anyway, so it seems like a waste. Maybe you should start getting drunk more often.

            He looks you in the eye when he’s listening and his gaze never strays. He furrows his brows when he’s thinking and he’ll ask you questions when he doesn’t understand something. You haven’t talked about anything too important – you’ve hardly mentioned Platinum Jail, you’ve danced around the subject of your family and he’s completely avoided talking about his. You’ve tried to find a good time to ask him to fuck again because you’ve sort of been wondering what it would feel like to be held down by shoulders as broad as his, but for some reason you can’t. You don’t know what it is that’s holding you back, but every time you open your mouth to say something, your voice gets caught in your throat and you close it again. Mizuki always smiles and cocks his head, begs you to continue, and it’s really fucking cute and that makes you really fucking angry.

            It’s mostly been conversations about Midorijima; he spent an entire night telling you how Aoba was doing with Mink, and you really didn’t give a shit for any reason other than it was coming out of his mouth and not anyone else’s. He still picks on you about Rhyme a lot, but it’s accompanied with a wry smile and a nudge of his shoulder into yours and you’re captivated. You want to see him smile again, you want him to nudge you more, and that’s why you keep coming back. That’s why you go back tonight.

            It’s about five p.m. when you walk in, because that’s usually when Mizuki is done with tattoos and sits around the bar, you’ve noticed. You’ve picked up on little things like Mizuki’s basic schedule, Mizuki’s facial tic when he’s thinking, Mizuki’s insistence that he force the studs that fall off his jacket back on, rather than let it go or buy a new one. You’ve also noticed Koujaku’s less-than-subtle absence. Just when you think you might be able to go the rest of your life without ever having to mention him again, Mizuki proves you wrong.

            When you walk in this time, Mizuki drops what he’s doing – cleaning out a glass behind the bar and talking to a Beni Shigure member – and points right at you. He usually finds his way to you eventually whenever you come in, but he’s never come right to you, he’s never lit up like this and pointed, he’s never smiled knowingly at you like this and it makes your heart beat faster. What did you do? Why is he smiling? What is this? You’ve only really known him a week but he’s treating you like you’re an old friend and he has something juicy to tell you.

            “Get over here,” he says and you try to keep your cool as you make your way to the end of the bar. This is where he sequestered you the day you hit on him and the memory is a little embarrassing.

            “What do you want?”

            He lifts his arm as you approach him and you think he’s going to put it around your shoulders but then he stops and brings it back to his side. You remember the awkward hug a week ago. Fuck, that’s an embarrassing memory, too.

            “So,” he whistles, his voice low but amused, “I talked to Koujaku.”

            You think your face might pale and you definitely start to feel a little antsy; you don’t know what he knows, but if the smirk on his face tells you anything, it’s that Koujaku told him everything and you don’t like that. You’re not sure why; you’ve never really cared who knew what about your sex life, and what you did with Koujaku was pretty vanilla (comparatively, at least), but – you don’t want Mizuki to know this. Mizuki is better than rough sex on a pile of garbage and something about Mizuki knowing this about you makes you feel very young, like a stupid child, though you’re not exactly sure your idea of being a kid is the same as everyone else’s.

            “Yeah?” you ask finally, deciding to test the waters. “So what’d he say?”

            Mizuki looks away and laughs to himself. He definitely knows. Koujaku probably told him everything, that bastard. Koujaku can really be a serious thorn in your side.

            “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” Mizuki says eventually with a shrug of his shoulders. “You totally told me the truth and I didn’t believe you. I’ll definitely trust you from now on.”

            He’s joking, but your heart flutters a bit when he says that. It doesn’t still the frustration though, and you roll your eyes at him.

            “Yeah, well, it wasn’t a big deal,” you say, but apparently that was the wrong thing. He frowns at you and tilts his head slowly.

            “Sounds like a big deal,” he says. “But I guess it’s not my business.”

            “It’s not,” you say quickly, and then you turn and go to the stool that you always sit on and you claim it once again as your own. You put your elbows on the bar and hold your head up with your hands, waiting for Mizuki to follow you.

            “Sorry,” he says when he finds you on the other side of the bar. “Do you want something to drink?”

            “Sure,” you say sarcastically. “Give me whatever.”

            When Mizuki doesn’t move, you look up at him. He’s staring at you with a furrowed brow and his lips upturned. For fuck’s sake, you don’t like it when Mizuki looks distraught.

            “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says. His voice is low; its not angry, it’s just serious and his lips press together tightly before he continues, “It didn’t seem like the kind of thing that you’d mind talking about. But it really wasn’t any of my business. That was stupid of me.”

            You blink. You’re feeling something you can’t quite put your finger on. You don’t like it. It’s – bad. You feel bad and that’s the best word you can come up with to describe it.

            “You’re not stupid,” is all you can say, and it seems to be enough. Mizuki smiles again – slightly, just enough to seem genuine, but not a huge grin – and takes a glass out from under the bar.

            “Drink?” he asks again and you nod. He gets you your usual: amaretto and Coke and you down it. You found that you really love these. They’re sweet and you can hardly taste the bitterness of the liquor, unless Mizuki makes it especially strong, which he only tends to do when he’s a few drinks in himself.

            He makes you another one and you try to take this one a little slower. He comes to the other side of the bar and sits next to you, his own drink in hand, and asks how your day is going. He always asks this and it’s so weird that it’s beginning to become rote for you. You shrug and tell him it’s okay but don’t ask him about his. He smirks at you and points out that you’ve been here a lot the past week and all you can do is try to suppress your grin and shrug your shoulders.

            “Free drinks,” you say. “Am I supposed to say no to that?”

            “That’s the only reason?” Mizuki beams. “You sure it’s not to see anyone?”

            You feel your smile flicker. What is he saying? Is he implying you have a crush on him? You don’t. Is he trying to ask you for sex? You don’t know what he wants and your pulse starts to quicken because you don’t know how to answer. You suppose you are sort of coming here to see him, but you’ve been trying your best not to admit that to yourself. It’s one thing to come by every once in a while to fuck with Koujaku, but you _have_ been here a lot this week and you’ve _only_ talked to Mizuki. He must think you’re here to see him. He must think you have a crush on him. He must think you’re trying to have sex with him.

            And he’s trying to take you up on it.

            Your heart sinks.

            “Maybe,” you tell him, your face completely blank. “Why? You interested?”

            He practically giggles and you wish you could think it was cute but you’re just disappointed.

            “Interested? In what? You?” he asks. He’s teasing you. His grin is so wide that his cheeks pull back tight; they’re sort of plump and you notice that he has dimples. Fuck. That’s cute. It’s too bad he really is just like everyone else.

            “Yeah,” you nod. “You wanna go dumpster diving too?”

            His grin vanishes and he pulls his head back, his eyebrows stitched in confusion and lips screwed up into a disgusted smile. He stares at you like he’s tired, like you’ve said something to exhaust him, and you feel so stupid again.

            “Dumpster diving?” he asks. “What does that mean?”

            You are really sick of him playing dumb. You shake your head at him.

            “Fucking please,” you mutter. “You know what I meant. We can do it, if you want. Maybe have a few more shots. Maybe go to a bathroom stall. Or maybe – ”

            You’re going to suggest taking him back to your place so he can fuck you properly but he cuts you off when he slams his fist on the bar. That’s probably the most violent you’ve ever actually seen him. He’s glaring at you now, but not like he’s angry with you. You don’t know how to describe it. It feels like he’s expecting you to say something but you have nothing to say.

            “Why do you always do this?” he asks. You’re about to answer but he doesn’t let you. “I just wanted to be nice to you. I’m sorry if you didn’t know I was joking. I was just teasing you. I didn’t think you were coming here to flirt with me – ”

            But that kind of _is_ why you’re coming here. Maybe it wasn’t clear to you until just now, but you _do_ come here to see him and you do kind of want to kiss him but you don’t actually want to fuck him pushed against a bathroom wall or over a pile of trash – wait, why not? That was fine for everyone else. That’s what you actively wanted from everyone else. Why do you want to sit in Mizuki’s lap and hold his hand and listen to what he has to say –

            Mizuki is the most dangerous person you know. And you are drunk.

            There’s a shout from the door and you both turn to see what the commotion is when three men burst through and make their way toward you. One of them nods toward the door and hooks his thumb over his shoulder, pointing outside.

            “They’re back,” he says.

            “The snakes,” says another and Mizuki stands up immediately. You glance from the Dry Juice members to Mizuki, who is unmistakably angry now. His hands ball into shaky fists and he’s glowering at his own team members. He seems to be three times his size. His shoulders are raised and his teeth are bared.

            “Get them out of here,” is all he says and if you weren’t somewhat worried for your safety, you’d be a little turned on. His voice is raspy and short and you’ve never seen him like this before. If this is Mizuki being angry, he was _not_ mad at you before. You’d hate to see how he gets in Rib fights – or maybe you’d love it. You can’t decide.

            “I think they’re just passing through,” a third man says. You have no idea what’s going on. Who’s outside? You open your mouth to ask, idly wondering if it’s the cops –

            Fuck. You realize at once. It’s not the cops.

            You stand up just as quickly as Mizuki did and he turns to you.

            “Who’s out there?” you ask, but he doesn’t answer.

            He doesn’t stop you when you run out either, and he doesn’t come out for you after you spot Virus and Trip walking down the end of the street, hands in pockets and their backs to you. You shout out to them and they turn, catch your eye, and they don’t say a word. Trip smiles at you, and then looks at Virus, who watches him thoughtfully. It’s as if Trip has already said yes to a question you haven’t asked yet, and Virus is mulling it over. Eventually, he nods his head backward and you fall into step behind them, several feet away the whole time as you make your way to your place. Wow, this all happened so fast. You shove your hands in your pockets as you realize that this was a stupid idea. It dawns on you: why the fuck did you leave Mizuki?

            Your place is far enough away from Black Needle by foot that you have plenty of time to go over what you’ve just done. You felt stupid. Mizuki made you feel stupid and you got angry so you left. No, this was a good thing. This made sense. You don’t know where you stand with Mizuki. But you know exactly where you stand with Virus and Trip. You can’t figure out if you owe Mizuki something or if he owes you something back, but with Virus and Trip, you know you have a mutually beneficial relationship every time you meet up. They want a plaything and you want to feel something. Right. This made sense.

            But –

            Mizuki has big, broad shoulders and they don’t scare you like Trip’s do. Trip’s are a threat; Mizuki’s are a security. Not that you know what it’s like to be pinned under Mizuki’s shoulders, but you imagine it would feel a lot more comforting than being under Trip’s crippling grip. Mizuki’s laugh is deep and genuine and it makes you swear you feel a little warmth; Virus’s laugh is airy and disturbing and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to feeling shivers run down your spine. Mizuki has the only pair of green eyes that you don’t hate. Mizuki has dimples when he smiles. Mizuki smiles at you.

            You stop thinking about Mizuki when you realize you’re standing at your own doorstep and Virus and Trip are watching you, waiting for you to come out of your reveries. You pull out your keys and let them inside. You wonder what it would be like if you were letting Mizuki inside instead right now. Would he go to your couch and sit down, pat the seat next to him and let you kiss him for hours or something stupid and romantic like that? Something stupid and romantic that would never, _ever_ happen like that?

            You realize that you’re standing in front of the door, hands in your pockets again, staring at the floor. At least you got the door closed. Virus and Trip stare at you and when you finally look up at them, Virus smiles at you.

            “What’s wrong tonight, Noiz-san?” he asks. That’s hilarious. He’s asking you something that friends usually ask each other, but you know what he really means.

            “I’m a dumbass,” you tell him, and there’s something comforting in the fact that that’s all you need to say. All three of you know what that means. Virus nods slowly and Trip rolls his shoulders back to crack the bones in his arms. All you can think is that his shoulders look so fucking stupid in that vest. That pattern always makes you sick to your stomach.

            “What do you mean by ‘dumbass?’” Virus asks. Trip edges away from him and sits down heavily on your couch. You almost laugh. He’s like a horse. Or a – buffalo or something. He’s so big and clunky.

            “I mean _‘dumbass,’_ dumbass,” you say. Trip laughs. It’s a strong, burst of air, and it’s just a single huff, but it’s loud and it makes you smirk. Virus’s smile stays in place.

            “You mean you feel you’ve done something idiotic,” Virus says, and you feel like that should be a question, but he says it with such finality that it’s definitely a statement. You look at the ceiling for a few seconds and then shrug.

            “Yeah.”

            Virus nods at you.

            “How old are you again, Noiz-san? Nineteen?”

            “Yeah.” You’re twenty. You’re not going to let him know that, though.

            “Well,” Virus closes his eyes slowly and cocks his head to the side. “You’re young. We all make mistakes, yes?”

            His comforting gaze makes you – uncomfortable. You shrug again.

            “Sure,” you say, but all you really want for them to do is fuck you.

            “Sometimes the mistakes we make do cause us to feel childish,” Virus says and that’s when you finally pause for a moment. That’s what you thought earlier. Compared to Mizuki, you feel childish. You remember your age when you’re around Mizuki and it makes you feel so stupid. You don’t answer. Virus asks:

            “Do you feel childish, Noiz-san?”

            Now you _can’t_ answer. You don’t really know what it feels like to be ‘childish.’ Your idea of being a child is being trapped in a room where no one can hear you, and even though you’re aware enough to know that that’s not what being a kid was like for everyone else, you don’t know what it _was_ like for other people – for normal people.

            You don’t even know what you’re doing when you breathe, “ _Yeah_.” You don’t know what it’s like to feel childish. But yeah, that’s what it is. You’re a dumbass kid and everyone around you is bored of you not having your shit figured out. They don’t have time for that. They don’t have time for you.

            “Tell us what happened,” Trip says suddenly and it startles you a bit. You look at him sitting on your couch. He has one hand in his lap and the other draped along the arm. He looks almost robotic, stiff and practiced, like just sitting is something he has to concentrate on doing.

            “Yes,” Virus urges, bringing your attention back to him. “Tell us what happened. Maybe we can help you.”

            “ _Help_ me?” you repeat, raising your eyebrows. “Why do you think I brought you over here?”

            “It’s not to help you?” Virus asks. You wrinkle your brow.

            “No,” you say. “It’s to _fuck_ me.” Trip chuckles.

            “Same thing,” he shrugs.

            “Yeah. So just fuck me.”

            Virus lifts his shoulders and blinks slowly, turning to Trip on the couch and then removing his jacket. He folds it neatly over the arm of the couch and you notice Trip’s gaze up at him is unwavering and admiring; he must be in love with him or something. You know you’ll never figure them out for sure but you sure as hell would like to. Just to satisfy curiosity. Not because you care.

            “Come here, Noiz-san,” Virus beckons and you oblige. He nods toward Trip and you stare at him, confused, until Trip pats his knee and you shake your head.

            “No,” you say. “Just fuck me.”

            “We’re going to,” Trip says. You close your eyes and grip the hem of your hat, flinging it off your head nervously, and then you feel hands on you guiding you toward Trip’s lap, which you tumble into and end up perched on one of his legs. This can’t be happening. This is so embarrassing.

            “Tell me what happened,” Trip says again, but his smile isn’t empathetic and gentle like Virus’s always is; it’s big and goofy and he’s _laughing at you_.

            “No,” you tell him. “Just fuck me.”

            He doesn’t respond. He bucks his hips up so brutishly that you jump off and he starts to unbuckle his belt. You think Virus is going to stop him but he doesn’t, and you can’t do anything before he’s pulling you back and then forcing you down to your knees. You’re heaved in between his legs and then he has his hand in your hair, shoving your head down and driving his cock into your mouth.

            You gag at first, coughing strongly enough that you have to pull your head off for a second and he lets you catch your breath before he brings you back down and he seems to be just the slightest bit gentler, to allow you to actually work his dick with your mouth. It’s not huge, but it’s not easy to take in completely, and you’re breathing heavily through your nose after just a minute or so. You do your best: you run your tongue along the bottom, you suck harder when you get to the head, and you reach to fondle the bottom of the shaft the best you can, given that he still has his horrifying pants on.

            He smells like sweet sweat again, like he just ran a mile in a donut shop and you realize that’s an idiotic comparison, but Trip is an idiotic person, so you suppose it fits. You grip his huge thighs in your palms and you try to make it sloppy. Something tells you he’d like that. You work up as much spit as you can to slick up his dick and who knows if you’ll end up needing that to substitute for lube with these two. You don’t think that the messy, slobbering noises you’re making are that sexy but Trip seems really into it. He grunts slightly, which is the most reaction you’ve ever gotten out of him, so he must be enjoying himself. You look up for a second and he has his arms spread along the back of the couch as he stares at you and it makes him seem so domineering and in charge and that’s when you first feel your dick stir. You like that. You don’t know that you really care about being dominated; you just like knowing that you can please someone as immovable as Trip.

            That thought inspires you to shift up on your knees a bit and work even harder. You hold his dick at the base and take your mouth off to lick a long, slow stripe from the bottom to the tip, making sure to circle your tongue right where the head meets the shaft and his hips thrust forward just slightly. He makes a noise from the tip of his teeth and closes his eyes and then you suck gently on just the head. In all the distraction, you realize you haven’t heard from Virus in a few minutes, but you think you can feel his presence directly behind you. In any case, he’s not doing much but watching. You dive down, taking as much of his dick in your mouth as you can and it surprises him enough to moan and twist his fingers in your hair. He pulls your head off but when you look up at him you notice that his hands are still on the couch. It’s Virus’s hands that are in your hair.

            His lips are brushing your ear when he says, “ _Hold it in your mouth when he comes,”_ and you’re about to ask him what he means when he pushes your head back down, and Trip’s body responds immediately. He’s coming in your mouth and you’re more focused on the fact that Virus knew he was close. He must have tells and Virus knows them well enough to predict his orgasms. That’s interesting.

            You accidentally swallow at first, but you stop yourself halfway through. You wish you weren’t scared enough of these two to listen, but you are, so you keep as much cum in your mouth as you can and it’s fucking disgusting. This is one occasion that you hate that you have a sense of taste, which is usually the only thing you’re ever grateful for. Trip’s cum isn’t especially bad, but it’s cum and you don’t really like warm, salty things.

            You’re too focused on how much you hate the taste of Trip to realize he’s done, and your head is ripped off his dick again, trailing a small line of beaded semen and saliva behind, but you manage to keep most of it in your mouth. You really want to spit it out but Virus wrenches your head back and you fall on your ass, your legs splaying in front of you and you feel clumsy and ridiculous. When you look up, Virus is squinting at you from behind his glasses, his face just inches from yours, and he makes his way to squat in front of you, finally taking his fingers out of your hair and grabbing your chin instead. He’s not rough, so it’s easy to keep your mouth closed, but you feel the drool building up and you really need to spit or swallow or anything at this point, you just need it out of your mouth.

            “Do you have something in your mouth?” he asks. You frown at him. Of course you do. He told you to keep it there. You don’t really understand the game he’s playing so you just furrow your eyebrows and shrug. You hear Trip’s belt buckle in the background. It’s starting to taste so bad that you think you might be tearing up. You wish you could just fucking swallow.

            “You know you aren’t supposed to put things in your mouth,” he continues. “Did you find that on the floor?”

            You stitch your eyebrows more and turn your head slowly as you stare at him. You can’t answer him. He understands that, right? Did Virus just have a stroke? If this is supposed to fuck with you it’s not working, because you have no idea what he’s trying to do. You start to blink rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. You’re hardly sad, but you hate the taste so much you can’t keep them away. Then Virus pinches your chin a bit tighter and touches his forehead to yours.

            “ _You are such a foolish child_ ,” he rasps. That’s when it clicks.

            He’s treating you like a child. He’s treating you like a petulant kid, who puts random things in his mouth, and that’s bad enough, but what’s worse is that you didn’t get it. You didn’t fucking understand what he was doing, because you weren’t a normal kid. And you’re not normal now and that, more than Virus’s words or Trip’s cum or any of this fucked up sex that they have with you is what makes the tears start to drip down your face.

            “Spit it out,” Virus says finally, turning your head sharply to the side and pulling it toward the floor. You don’t spit it out right away because you’re too busy trying not to bawl to really register what he says. You choke back a sob, your head jutting forward as you catch the cum in your throat again, and you look up at him, trying to gauge if he’s serious or not. When he thrusts your face toward your floor more and repeats himself – _“I said spit it out,” –_ you realize you should listen to him and you tongue around your mouth to gather as much as you can and spit it out, another trail of drool and semen clinging to your chin and you know how disgusting you look right now but you’re happy just to catch your breath and relax your jaw for now. Virus forces you to stare at the stain you’ve just made on your own carpet and this is the most physical Virus has ever been with you. You can barely even feel his grip.

            “Do you want me to help you now, Noiz-san?”

            Oh. He’s referencing an earlier conversation. That’s clever of him. You can’t even speak, you just nod weakly and your eyelids flutter open and closed as he shifts you gently to all fours and brings your pants down. He asks Trip to fetch the lube and you’re staring at the stain on your carpet as the room falls silent while all you can think about is the room you were confined to all those years ago. There are still a few tears rolling down your cheeks but you’re not crying, you’re just remembering the things you heard your dad say outside your door and you wonder if other people remember their childhoods so vividly. You wonder what Virus and Trip’s childhoods were like. You suddenly realize that Virus and Trip were once children and that seems so bizarre to you. You think Virus’s fingers are inside you, but all you can do is try to imagine him as a kid. You bet he looked exactly the same, only small. Small Virus.

            You’re distracted by the memories of your childhood; sort of in a haze exactly like the first time Virus and Trip both fucked you at the same time in your bedroom. There’s a disconnect between you and your body, which is sort of rich since there’s _always_ a disconnect between you and your body, but this is a different feeling. It’s familiar, too, like you’re not really here. You can tell that you’re on your hands and knees, you know that Virus has his dick in you, but you don’t know how much time has passed. All you know is that Virus has his fingers splayed behind your neck, and he’s pushing your face down into the carpet where you spit Trip’s cum. He’s not rubbing your face in it, but every time he thrusts, you push toward it and your mind is completely blank. Everything feels fuzzy and you don’t react even when Trip suddenly steps forward and grabs your chin and squeezes, forcing your lips apart. He grabs your tongue and pulls it out of your mouth by the tip. His fingers taste like sugar and skin and Virus keeps fucking you as he turns your tongue over in his fingers a couple times.

            “You have a tongue piercing,” he says. You feel like if you were more in this moment, you’d have some sarcastic reply, but you can’t think of anything right now. “I thought I felt that.”

            He wipes your chin off and you let your tongue hang out of your mouth after he lets go, panting until you feel Virus come inside of you, and he pulls out and cleans himself up while you stay on all fours, still staring at your carpet. You know who has really nice skin? Mizuki. It’s so dark and looks like it would feel a little rough but you’re not sure how you know that. You’ve never felt skin before. You’d like to feel Mizuki’s.

            “Don’t you want to come, Noiz-san?” you hear, and suddenly you realize there are hands on your dick. They must be Virus’s, because Trip is still standing in front of you. Never let it be said that Virus doesn’t care about his sexual partners, at least.

            “Sure,” you say, and you don’t feel completely clear-headed again until you _are_ coming, Virus’s fingernails digging deep into the head of your cock, as usual. You come against your carpet too, and you can hardly feel the orgasm but at least you’re back to reality. Virus stands up behind you and you think he tries to pull your pants up but you’re not sure if he manages to get them all the way on. You’re staring at the floor when Trip tips your chin up and looks you in the eye.

            “Bye-bye,” he says, and you squint slightly but don’t respond. You hear their footsteps pad to the door and they leave, and it occurs to you that that was the quickest they’ve ever been. It was hardly satisfying. You don’t hate yourself nearly enough –

            Oh. They didn’t have time to worry about you this time. Of course they didn’t, because they’re getting bored of you. That makes sense. They probably were never that interested in you, and now you’re getting even staler. There’s nothing particularly fucked up about you as far as they can tell, other than you must have daddy issues and be a massive masochist, only one of which is really all that true.

            You stand up. Your pants are definitely _not_ pulled up, but you decide to just step out of them and your boxers and kick them to the side. You trudge into your room and clean up the cum dripping down your leg with a washcloth sitting on your dresser, then put on sweatpants instead and stand in the middle of your bedroom, staring at the bedside table. Your brother is so close.

            You don’t know why you think of him. You don’t know why you always think of him in these moments. He’s the only person who ever seemed to care about you. He’s the only person who ever seemed to think that you were normal, other than –

And you know it was hard for him to get to you, but he tried. You can still remember the times he sat outside your door. He’d slip his fingers under the crack and you’d cling to them. Neither of you ever said much, you just sat there and cried that you couldn’t truly feel his fingers in yours. There aren’t many people whose skin you wish you could sense. Just him and –

            Anyway, he’s just a call away….

            But Mizuki is just a few _steps_ away and before you know it, you’re heading out your door again and on your way to Black Needle. You don’t know what initiated this, what made you want to see him so badly, what jarred your thoughts from your brother to Mizuki. Maybe it was Virus and Trip’s complete and utter indifference to you. You can suddenly feel the disparity between the way they don’t care about you and the way Mizuki doesn’t: you’re nothing to Virus and Trip. But you’re just like everyone else to Mizuki. And all you’ve ever wanted is to be like everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter was originally 9k words but i chopped it in half and decided to expand the second part a lot more, so the next chapter will be HEAVILY mizuki and more actual mizunoiz. i'm sure i'll post that a lot sooner than i got this one up, sorry it took so long. i'm still feeling kind of weird about posting this particular fic but... i promise that the Mizunoiz is going to pick up and be really... i dont want spoil it but it's not always going to be so dark, i can promise that
> 
> that being said i'm not super proud of this chapter rrrgh


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the day that Noiz will come to think of as his and Mizuki's first, if unofficial, date.
> 
> (This was how the previous chapter was going to end but then I chopped it in half and expanded on it so there's more Mizunoiz in it; also the end now prompts a bit of a different expectation for the next chapter (◕‿◕✿))

            You walk briskly to Black Needle, your eyes glued to the pavement in front of you, and you realize you’re a little winded when you start panting. You’re walking fast so that you don’t have to think that much, because your thoughts are a little overwhelming right now. You’re thinking about Koujaku, how his arms weren’t nearly as protective as you thought they’d be. You’re thinking about Trip, how big and how strange he is and how even he seems to feel some genuine, if fleeting, emotion for Virus, who seems to feel absolutely nothing at all, as far as you can tell. You’re thinking about your brother, who you desperately yearn for, if you’re being completely open with yourself.

            You’re thinking about Mizuki. You’re just thinking about Mizuki. When you get to Black Needle, though, he’s not there. You ask a guy you sort of recognize where he is, and he tells you he went home early. The yakuza assholes tend to take a lot out of him lately, and a few other guys turn their attention to your conversation. A few people nod when someone adds that it’s strange, since he used to be nothing more than severely put out by them. Lately, though, it’s been unadulterated, seething rage and he has to take a minute to collect himself. Apparently, tonight he needed more than a minute.

            “Why?” the guy asks. “Do you need him?”

            “I – ” you stutter. He isn’t smirking. He doesn’t have any sort of high, sarcastic tone. He’s honestly asking you if you need Mizuki and it makes you feel stupid.

            “I can give you his address.”

            Twenty minutes later, you’re knocking on Mizuki’s door, and when he opens it, you realize you have no idea what to say. You don’t know why you marched down to Black Needle in the first place, and suddenly Virus and Trip both come rushing back to you. Sitting on Trip’s knee, Virus forcing the cum out of your mouth, him fucking you into your carpet – you’re suddenly overwhelmed and Mizuki is staring at you. He’s _staring_ at you, and you think he might be annoyed.

            “What are you doing here?”

            His voice is low and grave, like you’ve never heard before. He’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt and reminds you of the neighbor boy you used to see through the window in your room as a kid. He’s the boy next door. The boy next door with a neck and a face tattoo, and is seriously pissed off that you’re standing on his doorstep right now. You take a deep breath and shove your hands in your sweatpants pockets, smirk, and tilt your head up at him.

            “Felt like I ran out of there pretty fa—”

            You start to give him some stupid line about standing him up and would he like you to make it up to him now, in his bedroom, maybe, on your back, but then he takes a step forward and wrinkles his brow, grabs the collar of your shirt and inspects your neck.

            “Holy shit, are you okay?”

            You’re taken off-guard. His hands are on you suddenly, pushing your head gently to the side and you have no idea what he’s talking about. You stutter a bit and finally ask, “What are you talking about?”

            “You’re bleeding. What the hell happened?”

            Shit. Shit, fuck, fuck, shit. You reach up and push him out of the way to touch your own neck and when you pull your fingers back they’re coated in crimson.

            “You’re pretty bruised too, shit, did you get in a fight?” he asks.

            “Uh – yeah,” you answer. It was something like that.

            “What – was it just a – was it Rhyme? Or – here, just come in.”

            He stands back and ushers you inside, and you’re shocked. You can’t believe you weaseled your way into his place, especially because you’re not so sure anymore that offering him a blowjob would have worked. You swear he’s attracted to you. Why doesn’t he want to fuck you?

            You don’t think about it. You follow his arm guiding you inside and stand in the doorway while he shuts the door and points down a long hallway.

            “Come here,” he says, making his way toward a small bathroom. His apartment is nice – not as nice as yours, but you doubt he could afford a place like yours. It’s small but it’s clean, and you’d probably have to use the word “cozy” more than anything and –

            “Holy shit,” you say when you spot movement out of the corner of your eye. Three cats all move at once, darting out from – you don’t even know where. They came out of nowhere and they jump in front of you as they run as quickly as their chubby little stubs for legs can carry them into another room that you assume is the kitchen. You look at Mizuki, wide-eyed.

            “Oh,” he smiles. “Those are my babies.”

            “ _Babies_ ,” you repeat. You are livid at how adorable that is.

            “That was Riko, Kiku, and Oka. You can meet the other ones later.”

            He turns the light on in his tiny bathroom and points toward the toilet. You furrow your brow.

            “You have more than that?”

            “Yeah,” he says, echoing your brows and folding his arms. “There’s also Kanon, Hana, Ren, Fujie—”

            “They’re just named after flowers,” you say.

            “Yeah, they’re – they’re like my little garden, I guess,” he says. He points again to the toilet and you finally make your way inside and sit down on the closed lid. “I can’t help it, I see a stray cat and I have to bring it home so you could say I started a garden.”

            “Of cats,” you add with a grin. Mizuki’s eyes dart to you. They scan your face to see if you’re making fun of him, but you’re not. You hope the smile on your lips looks genuine because Mizuki being an old cat lady is hilarious to you. He squints at you and a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips too, and then he turns his torso to the mirror and opens it open quickly.

            “Yeah,” he says. “Are you allergic?”

            “Not that I know of.”

            “Good. What about medicines?”

            “Huh?”

            “Are you allergic to any medicines?”

            He’s taking out a few bottles from his cabinet and you’re not sure what they are. He’s really going to clean you up, isn’t he? You feel your voice catch in your throat when you try to speak because you realize this is the first time anyone has ever done something like this for you.

            “What?” he asks after you choke on your spit.

            “N-no,” you say. “Not that I know of.”

            “Okay,” he says, uncapping a bottle of what looks likes rubbing alcohol and turning it over onto a cotton ball. “It’s gonna sting, obviously, but.”

            You bite your bottom lip for a second and don’t reply. It’s not. It’s not going to sting. You wonder if you should pretend it does. You’ve never felt the need to cover up for yourself before, but there’s a chance that Mizuki might think you’re too fucked up if he knew, and then he won’t take care of you anymore.

            No, that’s stupid, right? And who cares? Who is Mizuki? Mizuki doesn’t matter. If Mizuki isn’t a liar, then Mizuki is stupid. If he’s not trying to get something out of you, then he’s a dumbass. Mizuki is a dumbass. Mizuki is totally unaware of the world. Mizuki is – Mizuki is inches away from you. Mizuki is rubbing the cotton swab along your neck. Mizuki is running his tongue along his lower lip. Mizuki is squinting just slightly at your neck as he cleans it and you can smell him, fuck, oh God, he smells like cologne and alcohol, maybe something damp too, like pen ink, maybe he just washed his hair or something. He’s _inches from you_ and then he pushes your head up by the chin to get a better angle on your cut and you watch him out of the corner of your eye, hoping he can’t feel your heartbeat or hear your tortured breaths.

            Then he grins, and pulls up and inspects your neck for a few more seconds before he looks you in the eyes and cocks his head.

            “Wait a minute,” he says, his grin widening, “is this a hickey?”

            You look away automatically, embarrassed, because yeah, you’re assuming it’s a hickey, from _Virus_ , of all people. You really didn’t peg him for a hickey kind of guy. Mizuki is smirking at you, looking at you knowingly, his eyes half-lidded and his hand up, hovering by his face. You don’t know what comes over you, you just want to know what he’ll say, and you ask:

            “Is that childish?”

            He blinks. His grin falters slightly.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Would that be childish of me?” you repeat. “Am I childish?” Mizuki presses his lips together in thought and his eyes roll up to the ceiling. He shrugs. You ask what it is you really want to know: “Do you think I’m childish?”

            “Childish?” he asks, looking back at you. He shakes his head. “I think you’re _nineteen_ , but not childish.” You’re twenty. You don’t correct him.

            “What does that mean?”

            He laughs lightly.

            “It means you’re a lot younger than me,” he says. He is _so casual that you want to explode_. “But no, not necessarily _childish_.”

            You want to kiss him. You want to kiss him not because you want to get off, but because the desire is simply too strong. You want to grab the back of Mizuki’s head and pull him toward you and you want to kiss him, right here in his bathroom, but something tells you that you absolutely can not do that.

            “You don’t think I’m immature?”

            “I think you _can_ be immature,” he grins. Your heart starts to race, but then he adds, “But Koujaku can be just as bad and he’s twenty-eight. Why? What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing,” you shake your head fervently. Mizuki doesn’t think you’re childish. You don’t have words to describe how that makes you feel, but it does make you feel something.

            “Are you sure?”

            You frown at him. He’s double-checking. He’s worried that you’re lying. He wants you to tell him the truth.

            “Yeah,” you say, standing up from the toilet and taking a step toward him. It’s too much. He’s too kind. “Let me make this up to you.”

            “Make – what?” he asks, backing away from you. “I’m not even done yet—”

            “It’s fine,” you shake your head. “I’ll make it up to you.”

            “Noiz,” he groans, his eyes closing slowly. “Are you going to offer to blow me again?”

            You don’t get it. You’d hate to leave owing him something, and you don’t understand why he won’t just let you, especially when he’s made it clear on a few occasions that he doesn’t mind flirting with you and he might even find you attractive. So _why won’t he fuck you?_

            “Would you rather I pay you?” you ask.

            His eyes fly open and his eyebrows rise. He grins at you but it’s more incredulous than amused.

            “ _Pay_ me?” he shouts. “For rubbing you down with a cotton ball? Are you serious?”

            You shrug.

            “Why not? You helped me out.”

            “I didn’t even _finish_ ,” he growls at you, taking you by the shoulders and pushing you back onto the toilet. The force surprises you. “Honestly, why do always do this? What is your obsession with owing people?”

            “That’s how this works,” you hiss angrily, standing up again but he shoves you right back down.

            “How _what_ works?” he asks.

            “Everything!” you shout, surprising yourself at just how angry you are about this. “You do something for me, I do something for you! That’s how the world is!”

            “ _What?”_ he asks in disbelief. “That’s the – maybe in the – _business_ world or something it works like that! This isn’t a transaction, Noiz. I’m just cleaning up a cut or a – hickey, or whatever it is, for fuck’s sake. I’m trying to be nice.”

            “Why?” you ask. “Why are you trying to be nice?”

            “Because you be nice to your friends! _That’s_ how the world works!”

            The air is stilted as you stare at each other. It’s as if you’re a couple and he’s said, _“I love you,”_ for the first time. Even he seems to realize that what he just said was a bit awkward. He takes a deep breath and focuses his eyes on you. You stare back at him.

            “Okay,” he says. His voice is low and somewhat dark. You don’t like the sound of it. “You want to owe me?”

            It’s too late to say no now, but it dawns on you now, upon being asked that, that _no, no you really don’t want to owe him_. It confused you that he didn’t want anything from you before, but hearing him act like everyone else you’ve ever met is even worse. The worst part is that he’s done this before and you’re still surprised. You look at the floor. You feel defeated. You’re about to slip down onto your knees when he leans in and runs his lips up the side of your face, resting them at your ear and he whispers:

            “I have... so many… _noodles…._ ”

            Your mouth drops open and you glare at him from under your bangs.

            _“What?”_

He jumps away with a grin and puts his hands up defensively.

“You _owe_ me,” he says quickly.  “You _said_ you owed me, and I made _so many_ noodles before you came over, and I hate leftovers.”

            He did it. He did it again. He tricked you once more into thinking he was like everyone else, but he’s not.

            “Noiz, I’m begging you,” he says. “ _Please_. Help me eat my noodles.”

            Mizuki is not like everyone else in the world.

            It’s actually a massive epiphany and you’re sort of overloaded. You’re in this tiny bathroom with a guy you’ve only known intimately for about a week, and you’re realizing that he’s the first person you’ve ever met who doesn’t want anything more from you than your company. He just wants to be in your presence and you suddenly understand how those girls in those old movies feel. It’s overwhelming, the thought that someone just _likes_ being near you. Okay, maybe Mizuki doesn’t want so badly to be near you, but he certainly doesn’t _mind_ it. He’s never pushed you away. Even after he found out about Koujaku, he didn’t mind. Mizuki wants to – hang out with you. Not at Black Needle, not because he has to. Not because you came to the bar and now he has to put up with you. He could have kicked you out long ago.

            Mizuki is not like everyone else.

            “S—sure,” you stutter, still trying to accept that this is happening. You have a _friend_. You’re about to eat dinner with a friend. This is the first time you’ve ever done something like this and it’s all happening so fast.

            “Great,” Mizuki cocks his head. “Come on.”

            He leads you to his kitchen, which is just as tiny and quaint as the rest of the apartment, and he ladles out a bowlful of noodles and hands it to you, also flashing you a pretty fucking charming smile.

            “Thanks,” you mutter and you look around. There’s a dining table and just as you make your way to it, he shakes his head.

            “No, you can go to the living room,” he says. “We’ll watch a movie.”

            “A movie?” you ask. “A full-length movie?”

            He’s spooning some noodles into his own bowl when he looks up at you, still smiling but his eyes dart around the room as if he’s confused. Shit. That was a stupid thing to say.

            “Do you not have time for a whole movie?” he asks. “Got somewhere to go?”

            “No,” you say, a little too quickly. You just weren’t expecting him to want to keep you around that long. “Just weren’t sure if you meant a real movie or a porno or something.”

            “Yeah,” he laughs, grabbing a fork and handing it to you from across the counter. You take it. “I invited you over to eat dinner and casually watch porn.”

            You shrug.

            “Not _that_ weird.”

            He picks his bowl up and nods his head slowly at you. He’s still grinning. Anyone else would have furrowed their brow and called you strange, but Mizuki seems endeared.

            “Not that weird, huh?” he asks, leading you into the living room. “I guess you and I just have some very different pastimes, then.”

            Your mind wanders to when you were perched awkwardly on Trip’s knee and your heart skips a beat.

            “Probably,” you mutter and he takes a seat on his couch so you look around for where to sit. His living room is lit dimly and it feels so warm and intimate. The couch is kind of small but he doesn’t have a chair or anywhere else to sit so you stand there awkwardly until he turns and notices you’re still standing.

            “Come on,” he says, waving you over. “We’re going to watch an old American movie. It’s shitty.”

            You swallow hard. He wants you to sit next to him and there’s only so much room on that couch. Fuck, it’s practically a loveseat. But if you don’t move now, it’s going to be even more awkward, so you make your way toward him and you take a seat, suddenly too nervous by how close your thighs are to eat.

            “Sorry it’s such close quarters,” he says, shifting on the lumpy cushions to grab the remote from the floor. “It’s a small apartment.”

            You nod. It’s really going to take you a long time to get used to how normal he treats you. You like it a lot. You want to get used to it.

            “Are you okay?”

            You turn to him and widen your eyes.

            “Yeah?” you ask. You must be being pretty quiet. You can’t believe how nervous you are about all this.

            “Okay,” Mizuki nods, and he turns on the TV and he starts the movie but there is no way in Hell that you are focusing on it. You’re focusing on how you can peek out the corner of your eye and see how captivated he is by the screen; you’re absolutely in awe of how happy he is. He’s sitting on the couch eating noodles, watching a movie he seems to have seen plenty of times, and he’s laughing. He’s laughing at the movie, sure, but he’s happy to be on a couch, eating shitty noodles with you.

            When you finish your noodles, he takes your bowl and puts it on the table next to him and you both sit back against the couch. He sprawls his arm along the side and it reminds you of Trip. Then he brings his legs up and curls them underneath him and suddenly he’s so compact and the exact opposite of that big, lumbering douchebag. He’s so… cute. He wraps his other arm around his knee and he starts to chew on his bottom lip and you look away immediately because you think you might be staring. He’s completely unaware. He’s too busy watching the screen.

            You try to get comfortable. It’s not exactly like your joints would ache or your limbs fall asleep, you just don’t want to look awkward and robotic like Trip. You try to echo him; you shove your boots off and pull your feet up, curl them under you, but you don’t realize that you’re touching his until he very quietly says, “ _Sorry_ ,” again and pulls himself in even further to his own body.

            “Oh, no,” you say, feeling bad that he looks so constricted. “Sorry. I’ll move.”

            “It’s fine,” he assures you. “Actually, I’ll just go on the floor.”

            Maybe you should have protested, but you watch him get up and go to a basket in the corner of the room. When he opens the whicker lid, you see a huge stockpile of pillows and he throws five or six on the floor in front of the couch.

            “That’s a lot of pillows,” you say.

            “Yeah,” he says, grabbing one last one and grinning at you. “I don’t have a lot of room for seating, so I just collect pillows.”

            “A pillow garden?” you ask. He nods at you.

            “Exactly,” he laughs, and he makes himself comfortable on the floor at your feet, and you spend the entire following hour watching him watch the movie. You can’t stop. You hope it isn’t perverted; the last thing Mizuki deserves is for someone to creep on him, but he’s so –

            There are so many words you could use to fill in that blank, but you don’t want to get overwhelmed again, so you close your eyes and the first thought that pops into your head is what it would be like to kiss him. What would it be like if he stood up right now and turned to you, touched your face – you wouldn’t be able to feel his hands, but what’s new – and kissed you right on your lips? You’d hardly be able to feel the kiss. That’s what it would be like. You’ve never fantasized about something gentle before. Tenderness doesn’t make you come. Tenderness _can’t_ make you come. You could never really _be_ with Mizuki, because there’s no way you could hurt him more than he already has been.

            All these romantic thoughts swirl around your head until you suddenly open your eyes and see Mizuki staring at you, his eyebrows raised, and he smiles softly. You fell asleep. You didn’t mean to. That’s a little embarrassing.

            “Tired?” he asks.

            “Apparently,” you shrug, sitting up and rubbing your eye to focus.

            “Do you want company walking home?”

            “N—no,” you say, surprised. No one’s ever offered to walk you home before.

            “Oh,” he says suddenly. “I mean, you don’t have to go home. You can stay here. The couch isn’t that comfortable, though.”

            “Oh, no, I didn’t – I didn’t mean it like that,” you tell him. “I just was – you’d have to walk all the way back here yourself.”

            “Well, _I’m_ not the one falling asleep on people’s couches,” he teases. He lifts his leg up and bends it at the knee, draping one arm over it. His shorts fall down a bit and you can see his thigh. It’s lean but muscular and you have to rip your eyes away.

            “Sorry,” you shrug. He thinks you’re apologizing for falling asleep, and you’ll let him assume that.

            “Don’t worry,” he says. “So do you – want to stay or go?”

            You get up to leave, and he waves goodbye from his door, though not without offering to walk you back at least three more times. You refuse every time, and on the walk home, you shove your hands in your pockets and you can’t really think about anything other than his smile when he laughs at your jokes, or his eyebrows when he thinks you’re upset. You can’t really think about anything other than him when you get home, and you can’t really think about anything other than him when you wake up the next morning, either.

            Mizuki has more or less exploded into your life, and you’re not exactly one for sappy metaphors, but Mizuki has come to be something of a ray of sunshine on an otherwise cloudy day. You spend your days doing odd computer jobs here and there, mostly spending your parents’ money away, every now and then leaving your apartment to pick a fight or get something to eat with someone from Ruff Rabbit. Now you find yourself actively excited to leave at night, to go to Black Needle, to have a few drinks, just like you see people do on TV. You look forward to talking to Mizuki, you look forward to certain Dry Juice members now treating you with some decency, and you look forward to picking on Koujaku.

            In fact, you saw Koujaku for the first time since your hookup two days after dinner with Mizuki. You and Mizuki had exchanged numbers and he invited you to come hang out with him at Black Needle. When you got there, Koujaku was sitting at the bar, in your usual seat, and you sidled up beside him and smirked. He looked at you and winced; you think he checked his options to run away, but remained seated.

            “You never called me back after that beautiful night we spent together, babe,” you had said to him, and he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes slowly.

            “Don’t do this, Noiz,” he replied. You laughed. You didn’t really care what he wanted.

            “Do what? I’m not going to make a scene,” you had told him, rolling your eyes. “Just wondered why you never called me back.”

            “ _Noiz_ ,” he gasped, and you remember, it was like he was begging you. You could tell right then that something more was wrong, and you didn’t know and you didn’t care, but Mizuki’s words had popped into your head just then. Koujaku had been through a lot. You still didn’t give a rat’s ass about Koujaku, but Mizuki –

            You sat down and sighed.

            “So did Mizuki invite me here to make up with you? Was that his plan?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Mizuki wanted us to figure our shit out, I guess,” you had said. Koujaku looked at you with stitched brows.

            “I just got here. Mizuki invited you?”

            “You just – yeah,” you had started to say, and Mizuki slid up at that moment, biting his bottom lip and smiling at you both.

            “Koujaku! I didn’t… know… you were on your way over tonight…”

            And that was how you accidentally ended up in the back alley with Koujaku again, this time smoking a cigarette and listening to him mumble an apology and a shitty explanation of what came over him. It was just that he missed Aoba, he said, and you rolled your eyes. He didn’t have to tell you he was in love with him if he didn’t want to you supposed, but it was awkward to watch him step around it. Then you made the mistake of rolling your eyes and telling him you’d leave it alone, but only for Mizuki’s sake. When he asked you why, you stood rooted to the ground, in completely disbelief that you just told him that.

            Then he asked you why Mizuki had invited you that night, and you told him you didn’t know. He studied you and you couldn’t look at him. He told you Mizuki was his best friend and that he’d been through a lot and he didn’t deserve to be fucked with and something swelled inside of your chest so great that you almost threw him against a wall and gave him a fat lip. You wouldn’t fuck with Mizuki you spat, and he raises his eyebrows at your sudden passion. He said he didn’t trust you and that pissed you off, so you left. You didn’t say anything to Mizuki and he called you later that night, but you ignored it. He called you the next day too, but you ignored it again. He called you the day after that and you finally picked up and asked him what the fuck he wanted. He smiled and told you he had just wanted to make sure you were okay. You scowled and told him to leave you alone. He invited you out to Black Needle that night and you told you were very busy tonight but sure, you’d be there by eight.

            The only problem is that, though Mizuki is a ray of sunshine, the day _is_ still cloudy. You still don’t know where you fit in. Your parents still resent you, your brother still doesn’t know how to call you, and you don’t think you can ever go back to Germany. It’s apparent that a lot of Beni Shigure and most of Dry Juice only put up with you because Mizuki does, and you still laugh at the wrong things and misunderstand a lot of their jokes. Koujaku never exactly rushes to your defense. And it’s like Mizuki doesn’t even notice, but everyone else stares until someone changes the subject and you walk away awkwardly, trudge home alone and try to pull out your hair as you fall asleep, you feel so stupid.

            And you still go to Black Needle and you still hang around in the Dry Juice alleyways, so it’s only natural that you still run into Virus and Trip now and then, and you thought they were bored of you, but the next time you see them, Trip backs you into a corner and whispers in your ear, _“Feeling out of place?”_ and you hate to admit that you do. It takes you a few seconds but eventually you nod, and Mizuki’s nowhere to be seen because unlike you, he actually has other friends. You take them back to your place and they bind your wrists and bend you over the arm of your own couch and take turns fucking you and asking you how worthless you feel.

            You don’t know why you want this still, because you honestly _don’t_ feel as worthless as you used to; you _don’t_ feel as worthless as you did just two weeks ago, but they draw you in somehow. You crave this. You suppose that it’s a sort of validation; that just because Mizuki likes you, doesn’t mean you’re any better than you were. Just because you don’t feel _as_ worthless doesn’t mean you aren’t at all. Sometimes you feel like the most important man on Earth, all because someone as angelic as Mizuki likes you, but Virus and Trip are quick to remind you that it means nothing; people like Mizuki are kind to everyone, including worthless freaks.

            The most confusing part is that Virus and Trip don’t actually treat you too badly. Most of the time they leave having given you a backhanded compliment, like, “ _Don’t worry that you’re a freak, Noiz-san, you don’t have to impress anyone_ ,” and it comforts you. That’s always good to know.

            You sink to the floor, your back to the side of your couch after you come, and you see Trip tucking himself back into his boxers. You catch a glimpse of those dark red hairs trailing up his stomach and when you look up at his hair, you see his roots poking through.

            “Your roots are showing,” you say. He looks at you blankly and then, as if he’s just registered what you’re saying, he runs a hand through his hair, his eyes a bit wider. He’s insecure. That’s hilarious. You don’t know why it pops into your head, but it feels like a good time for some revenge. You flash him a grin. “Hey, I know someone who’s really good with hair. He’ll fix you up.”

            “I can dye my own hair,” he tells you. Virus is putting his jacket back on from the other side of the couch, and remains silent.

            “Yeah, but this guy can do it really good,” you insist. “He’s a real hairdresser. And we’re really close, I can get him to do it for free.”

            “Close?” Trip asks. His voice is faraway and monotonous, like he has particularly big doubts, and you don’t blame him. He knows you don’t have any friends.

            “Yeah,” you nod. “He fucked me in a pile of trash once.”

            That’s how you end up surprising Koujaku on his doorstep with a bag of hair products in one hand and a huge piece of yakuza garbage next to you. Koujaku has never looked angrier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> remember how the fic summary says Tripjaku? get ready for another slow burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS FROM KOUJAKU'S POV
> 
> please remember this fic was supposed to be a joke but somehow it snowballed so there's going to be some goofiness along the way of Very Serious Mizunoiz

            (The first thing that went through Koujaku’s mind when he saw Noiz at his front door was a deep irritation and a desire to punch him in the mouth. The first thing that went through Koujaku’s mind when he saw the yakuza asshole accompanying him was a strong and raging wrath, and an overwhelming need to plunge a blade into his stomach. He’s still not sure whom he hates more.

            Noiz is a little shithead, like usual; he holds up a bag of who-knows-what and says they’re there for Koujaku to dye Trip’s hair. It’s the most bizarre thing he’s ever heard and for some reason the first thing out of his mouth is, “ _You don’t have an appointment!”_ and that sends Noiz into a fit of laughter unlike anything he’s ever seen from him. _“That’s not what I meant!”_ he tried to correct, but it was too late. The piss ant was loose.

            It comes to fisticuffs with Trip when Koujaku attacks him. The blond doesn’t like people coming near his neck much, he guesses. He slams Koujaku against the wall outside his apartment, and he’s hardly bigger than Koujaku, but he does give him a run for his money for once. Noiz holds up his Coil and asks them to stop so he can take a picture and Koujaku kicks his foot out to try to attack him. Trip turns around and grabs the scruff of his neck, less like he’s trying to fight him and more like he’s a mother cat, annoyed by his kitten and trying to get him out of the way. He ends up sandwiched between the two instead, and finally Koujaku lets them both in when Trip looks him dead in the eyes and says, “ _Let me in or I’ll make life Hell for your friend at Dry Juice.”_

That was terrifying. Koujaku stood rooted in his spot out on his front step, back against the wall and knees bent slightly, Noiz cradled awkwardly against his lap and Trip’s torso. Trip could have threatened anyone else and Koujaku would have swung a fist again, but not Mizuki. He could have threatened Aoba at this point even, since he’s out of the country, and Koujaku still wouldn’t have let him in. But Koujaku knows how hard Mizuki has it these days. His dreams are crumbling down around him, mostly thanks to Koujaku in more ways than one, and at night his dreams turn to nightmares. He’s called Koujaku a few times, tears staining his face and spit hanging from his mouth, saying nothing but apologizing for calling in the first place. Koujaku has gone to his place, has hugged him until he’s done screaming, has sat in his bed with him until he’s fallen asleep. Mizuki has never told him what the nightmares are. There is nothing scarier to Koujaku right now than hearing Trip threaten one of his best friends, especially because he knows Trip is serious. He and his fucking butt buddy _can_ make Mizuki’s life Hell. Koujaku isn’t going to take the risk.

            Of course, he’s livid at Noiz the entire time. The air-headed asshole sits on his bed, reclines against his pillows, and doesn’t even bother taking his weird fucking boots off as he rests his feet on the sheets. And Koujaku is seething under the surface, careful not to let it boil over, both so that he doesn’t become somebody else, as Koujaku likes to think of it as, and so that Trip doesn’t decide to make good on his threat against Mizuki. It doesn’t help when he goes through the bag that Noiz brought, finding a bottle of shampoo, cleaning bleach, and a single Popsicle (( _“This is a Popsicle,”_ he says; _“Oh, what flavor?”_ Noiz asks. _“It’s leaking all over the rest of the bag,”_ Koujaku adds. Noiz asks if it’s cherry and Koujaku flings it at his head)). He doesn’t check the rest of the items.

            He hardly worries about making Trip’s hair perfect. He resolves to only bleach it, since he can’t get a straight answer one way or the other from him what his usual process is, and he hears Noiz giggling the entire time. He puts together a solution and shakes the bottle, puts a nozzle on it and starts to squirt it against Trip’s scalp, when Noiz opens his fucking mouth.

            “So how’s Aoba?” he asks, and Trip moves his head to look up at Koujaku. The bleach squirts a bit too hard and starts to drip down Trip’s brow bone; Koujaku yells out but can’t finger it back up before it drips into Trip’s eye and he gasps. Noiz leans forward to see what’s happening and just when Trip should be screaming out in pain, he simply wipes the bleach away and asks for a tissue. Koujaku hands him a damp washcloth and watches as he wipes the bleach mixture out of his eye. He turns to stare at Noiz, wide-eyed and somewhat terrified. Noiz echoes his expression and Koujaku decides not to mention it.

            “Anyway,” Noiz says after a few more seconds. “Aoba?”

            Koujaku can’t stop himself as he crumples inward, closes his eyes and tilts the bottle up to keep it from spilling out and into Trip’s eyes again. Man, that was weird. What was that? How did Trip not cry out in agony? Why is Noiz asking about Aoba? Why can’t Noiz stop existing? Didn’t Koujaku _just_ tell him he didn’t trust him? Didn’t Koujaku _just_ tell him not to fuck with Mizuki? And he thinks the best idea for a prank is to get mixed up with the guys who still actually fuck with Mizuki? When he gets Trip out of here, he’s going to kick Noiz’s ass. He already lost one best friend to a criminal; he’s not going to lose another one just because some fucking teenager wanted some perverse amusement because he can’t make friends of his own to hang out with.

            “Koujaku?” Noiz practically sings, and that’s when Koujaku explodes.

            “Shut up!” he barks, his body opening up to Noiz and taking a threatening step forward without him telling it to. He needs to pull back. This is a bad sign. “I haven’t spoken to him! He doesn’t call! I don’t know how he is!”

            Noiz smirks and Koujaku picks up a brush and hurls it at him. He dodges it – well, to be fair, it’s about five feet to his right, but Koujaku won’t admit it – and goes back to Trip’s hair. He works in silence until all of Trip’s roots are coated and then he sits back in a chair in the corner of the room, puts his head in his hands and thinks about the last call he had with Aoba. It was only a few days ago.

            Koujaku lied.

            He talks to Aoba often. But Mink is always in the background. Aoba is always talking about coming back to visit, but he’s never done it. Koujaku is almost grateful in an extremely self-absorbed way, that Aoba chose such a shitty suitor, because he can hate him without raising any suspicions. And he _loathes_ that Mink’s hair looks so beautiful. That’s one of his life’s cruelest coincidences.

            He glances at Trip, who seems perfectly content to be sitting in absolute silence with nothing to do. At one point he stands up and Koujaku is about to tell him he needs another twenty-five minutes, but then he sits back down, almost immediately and Koujaku shares another confused look with Noiz, who shrugs at him.

            And he’s almost endeared to Noiz in that moment, that they have one thing to bond over, but then he remembers that that thing is here to bond over in the first place because Noiz brought him over, and then he remembers Trip’s threat and then he remembers the day he told Mizuki about Ryuuhou. He hadn’t told him the whole story – not about his mother, or even his father, really – but he ruined a lot of Mizuki’s life that day, and not that soon after he’d gotten out of the hospital, too. The last thing Mizuki needed was to have his idol ripped away from him, but of course, his first reaction was to tear up all the designs of his that he had littered around Black Needle – even the one he had framed, from the man himself. Things had been so strained between the two for the next week or so and Koujaku regretted it every day. Koujaku hated Ryuuhou more than anything in the world and he hated seeing Mizuki praise him every so often, but Mizuki’s instant, unwavering loyalty to Koujaku was somehow worse than seeing Ryuuhou’s tattoo sketch on Mizuki’s counter every day.

            That’s when he glares at Noiz, who’s busy on his Coil, which is surprising, though he’s sure as Hell not going to say anything to get his attention. Barely an hour has passed, and Koujaku can’t imagine what he would have done this morning if someone had told him he’d be dyeing a yakuza asshole’s hair while Noiz was on his bed. He really can’t do anything but sneer as he stares at the asshole on his pillows, having to content himself with simply imagining punching him in the eyes for putting his best friend in danger.

            That’s when Trip stands up abruptly and starts to leave.

            “What are you doing?”

            “I’m going to wash it out now,” he says, heading out the door and down the hallway to the bathroom.

            “It needs more – ” Koujaku calls, but Trip shrugs on his way out and continues. Koujaku looks at Noiz in defeat and mumbles, “It needs like, fifteen more minutes,” and Noiz shrugs at him.

            Actually, this is perfect. If Koujaku doesn’t have to help Trip wash it out, that leaves him plenty of time to rip Noiz a new asshole. He stands up and rushes over to Noiz, who barely has time to react before Koujaku has him up by the collar of his shirt and is throwing him to the ground.

            “Whoa, holy shit,” he says, with a laugh in his voice. “We’re doing this again? That’s such an upgrade, I have to admit, from trash to bedroom flo—”

            “ _Shut_ the fuck up,” Koujaku hisses, pulling him up and then knocking the back of his head against the wood floor. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

            Noiz’s grin disappears and it’s replaced with a sneer as he pushes Koujaku off him and Koujaku shoves a shoulder against his to put him back in place.

            “I’m not going to fuck with Mizuki,” he spits, “and you thinking I am pissed me off.”

            “What the _fuck do you mean you’re not going to fuck with Mizuki?”_ Koujaku says, almost in tears. He just wants Mizuki to be okay. He just wants everyone to leave Mizuki alone. Mizuki has enough to deal with. “You say you don’t want to fuck with Mizuki but then you bring the _yakuza who watches his territory over?_ For what? To fuck with _me?_ You’re either a fucking liar and an asshole or you’re really fucking stupid, and I genuinely can’t decide which.”

            Judging from the look on Noiz’s face, it’s probably more stupid than outwardly evil.

            “What – what do you mean?”

            “You think it’s funny to fuck with _me_ , fine. But _don’t_ bring Mizuki into this. You heard what Trip said, right? You have ears? You heard him threaten Mizuki but you didn’t think to try to rectify the situation? Just thought it would be hilarious to sit on my bed and poke at me the entire time? You realize if something were to happen to Mizuki, it would be your fault, right?”

            “I – I didn’t – think…” Noiz trails off and Koujaku nods slowly.

            “Right,” he says. “Exactly.”

            “I heard him, I just – I didn’t think he was – serious – ”

            “Why _not?”_ he asks. “ _Why_ wouldn’t he have been serious about that? _Why_ would Trip lie? Trip hardly speaks. Do you think when he does he’s lying? Do you know Trip? Are you best friends?”

            He’s rambling but he can’t stop; Noiz is wriggling beneath him and eventually is able to shove him off and stand up. Koujaku looks up at him and shakes his head.

            “I’ll take care of it,” he says and Koujaku shrugs, having completely given up.

            “What does that mean?”

            “It means – shut up,” Noiz says, and he’s up and pulling Trip out, his hair still sopping wet and probably still full of bleach. For some reason the last thing that goes through his mind as Noiz pulls the door shut behind them is the last yakuza he sunk a blade into, and he punches a hole in the drywall trying to get his father’s face out of his head.)

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just an interim; there's going to be a few chapters from koujaku's POV and they're going to be in parentheses because they sort of serve as breaks and fill-ins for the mizunoiz.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noiz doesn't know what he thought having a real friend would be like but it sure wasn't like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GINORMOUS SHOUTOUTS TO MY PARTNERS IN CRIME [EDGIE](http://www.rhymerib.tumblr.com/), [CORN](http://iamalsohere.tumblr.com), AND [EM](http://toueinc.tumblr.com) who listen to me ramble about this and then fuckin beta it bless u guys

            Being selfish was helpful. Being selfish was what kept you afloat. It was the reason you made it this far, it was the only way you managed to take care of yourself enough to barely survive but now you’re terrified that your selfishness hurt someone. You’ve never cared about that before and it’s not at all lost on you that it’s because you care about someone now that being selfish isn’t working anymore. How did you let it get to this point? You’re a fucking moron. And right now you’re standing across from Trip, who’s the biggest dolt you know, so that’s saying something.

            Trip is sitting on your couch and you can’t do anything but stand there and watch him like a hawk, your feet apart and your arms crossed. He seems relatively calm, with his hands in his lap as he looks around your apartment as if he’s studying it, as if he’s trying to learn more about you from it. You’re pretty sure he’s not capable of analytical thought like that, so you don’t worry. You just make sure he stays in place while you wait for Virus.

            When you got him out of Koujaku’s, you forced him back to your place and made him call Virus to invite him over, and let him rinse out the rest of the bleach in your sink. His hair looks terrible and you think there are blanched spots on the back of his black t-shirt, but you really aren’t worried about him at all. The only thing you care about right now is Mizuki.

            Koujaku was completely right, and you hate him even more now for it. If you hadn’t been so fucking selfish, Mizuki wouldn’t be in any danger. This is entirely your fault and all you can do is repeat to yourself over and over again just how fucking stupid you are. Every second that goes by that Virus isn’t in your sight is another second of agony and anziety and you want to call Mizuki to make sure he’s okay but you don’t want him to know what you’ve done. You don’t want your only friend to break up with you because you put him in danger of the yakuza. That’s a reason for a friend to break up with you, right? You’ve never had a friend but you imagine so.

            There’s finally a knock on the door and you let out a deep breath that you didn’t realize you were holding as you let Virus in, who steps decorously to the side of the entranceway and smiles at you as if he’s waiting for an explanation. You look at Trip, whose head is no longer lolling around his shoulders as he studies your living room. He’s staring right at Virus, completely blank-faced and emotionless.

            You’re not sure what to say; all you know is that if Virus and Trip are here, they can’t be at Black Needle or Mizuki’s place. But then it suddenly dawns on you that they’re the head of a massive crime organization and they probably have any number of cronies who can do their dirty work for them and you can’t stop yourself from falling to your knees and gripping at your hat frantically: you’ve really fucked up and there’s nothing you can do.

            “Noiz-san?” Virus calls from behind you. His voice seems so far away. “What on Earth is wrong?”

           Should you mention Mizuki? Should you ask if he’s safe? Or should you not bring it up? Maybe it’s better not to remind them. Did Trip already tell Virus something? You pull your hat down to cover your eyes and you grit your teeth; you feel your molars scrape against each other as you work through your nerves.

            “Noiz-san?” Virus calls again, and you pull your hat off and throw it to the ground. You look up at him and say the only thing that comes to mind:

            “I’m so fucking selfish.”

            Virus raises his eyebrows and purses his lips. He’s thinking. He rolls his eyes up and then turns his head to Trip, who does little more than return his gaze.

            “I’m not sure why I was called here, but I – “

            “Shut up,” you mutter. “You know exactly why you were called here.”

            Virus watches you for a moment with the smallest of smiles on his lips before he takes a quick breath and looks to Trip.

            “Well,” he shrugs, “what exactly is it you’ve done thistime, Noiz-san? Why are you so selfish?”

            It’s awkward; you can’t exactly tell him because you’re not entirely sure he already knows. And if he doesn’t, you don’t want to let him. You’re not sure why you look over to Trip because you already know he’s not going to be giving you any answers but you do anyway. He stares at you so hard you can feel it bore to the back of your skull.

            “I’m just – ” you struggle for words. “I’m – I’m selfish.”

            Virus finally starts to take long strides toward Trip and nods slowly as he speaks.

            “We play this game every time,” he says. “And you always end up telling us. So let’s skip the annoying part today and skip right to your confession, yes?”

            Your breathing starts to quicken as you watch Virus stand next to the couch, hands clasped behind his back. You don’t want to. You don’t want to tell him. But you do. You really do, you want to tell them how much you hate yourself and you just want them to validate you. You want their confirmation, that you’re scum and you’re stupid and you’re selfish and Mizuki doesn’t deserve to have to deal with someone like you.

            You tongue the top of your mouth until you let out a breath and you sigh: “I put someone in danger just because I wanted to do something for myself.”

            You look to Trip but he still doesn’t react. Virus raises his eyebrows and takes a deep breath as he looks at the floor, then reaches up and adjusts his glasses by the bridge and then looks back to you. He crosses to the couch and takes a seat next to Trip, who watches him the entire time.

            “That’s a heavy profession, Noiz-san,” he says. “That _is_ selfish.” You let your head droop to the side and look to the floor. “Why don’t you – crawl over here,” he adds, and you don’t question it whatsoever. You fall to your hands and make your way clumsily to the front of the couch and sit back on your heels, your hat discarded on the floor behind you and forgotten. Trip reaches out and runs a finger down your scalp, takes a strand of your hair in between his fingertips and yanks, then lets go and sits back. You grab the hair that he pulled to smooth it back down and furrow your brows at him.

            “…The fuck?”

            “I don’t think I need to know the details,” Virus says, as if his bizarre doppelganger hadn’t just pulled your hair like a toddler. “Do you feel badly for what you did?”

            “Yes,” you say automatically. Your voice sounds unlike your own. You don’t know who’s speaking.

            “Would you like to reconcile it?”

            “ _Yes_ ,” you all but gasp, and Virus nods. You’re staring at the couch when he first unzips his slacks and jerks himself off a few times, and then he’s tilting your head up by the chin and guiding you onto his dick by the back of your head.

            “Why don’t you focus on us today then, Noiz-san?” he says. You suppress your gag reflex the best you can as he pushes you down as far as you can go onto his cock. “Focus on someone else other than yourself?”

            He’s right. That’s what you should do. You’ve never felt bad about being self-centered before today, and you don’t know if that means you have real emotions for Mizuki – why would you feel bad for endangering him if you didn’t? – but you do know that Virus’s cock is thicker than you ever realized. He’s not exactly the person you want to focus on other than yourself, but even he is more deserving than you are, so he’s a start.

            You’ve hardly been working his cock with your tongue before something is lifting you off and Trip bumps his hips against Virus’s and he slides over and positions his own hard dick at your lips and forces his way in. Trip’s dick is longer but not as wide, and somehow it’s easier for you to take. You still can’t fit it all the way in, but it doesn’t make you choke as hard. And there’s that familiar sugary smell. You don’t know what it is, but it makes the whole thing a little bit easier. It’s nicer than the usual scent of sweaty skin and cum, at least.

            “That’s good, Noiz-san,” Virus says suddenly and you open your eyes – you didn’t even realize you had closed them – and bring your hand up to stroke the base of his shaft while you work at sucking the head. “Try a bit lighter with your hand.”

            You take your mouth off Trip’s dick and look at Virus. You stare him down, silent but bewildered. He nods toward Trip and you look back at his dick, start to ghost your fingers along his shaft and Virus nods.

            “Like that,” he says. “Good boy.”

            Your shoulders tense when he says that and you cringe a bit; you hope he doesn’t expect you to respond with _Daddy_ or anything right now, but he falls quiet afterwards. Trip bucks his hips up a bit after about a minute of just your fingers and you put your mouth back on it, sucking at the head as you were before and this time barely jerking him off with your fingertips.

            “Are you swirling your tongue around the head?” Virus asks and you take your head off again. Is he telling you how to suck Trip off? You roll your lips inward and stare at him. He knows how Trip likes his dick sucked, apparently. And he’s guiding you through it. He smiles and nods at you quickly a few times. “Back to it, Noiz-san. Swirl your tongue around the bottom of the head.”

            You look back at Trip’s dick in confusion but you do what Virus says and Trip’s thighs are trembling in a minute flat. You think he’s about to come down your throat when Virus leans in and whispers, “ _Bite it_.”

            You do. You don’t know why, but you bite down, not hard – not as hard as you need – but hard enough that Trip bucks up and comes down your throat not two seconds later. He grips the back of your head and shoves you all the way down; you immediately start to gag and try to push back. This is not sexy, the coughing noises coming from the back of your throat, but Trip doesn’t seem to notice. When he finally lets you pull off, semen trails from the back of your mouth to his dick and spills out onto his pants. You try to wipe your chin off as best you can before he’s pushing your head toward Virus and you have your mouth full of yakuza dick again.

            “Why don’t you go clean up?” Virus breathes above you, and you feel Trip’s weight lift from the couch and head to your kitchen. This is a lot easier when you don’t have an audience, though you’re sure Virus will find some way to humiliate you all the same.

            But he’s relatively silent – at least, he isn’t speaking, while you suck him off. He guides your head a bit but not violently like Trip and he’ll let out small sighs and appreciative gasps, though you think they’re more put-on than genuine. They’re to let you know to do something again, so you try to repeat all the things you do that make him react, like licking a stripe up the shaft and cupping his balls in your palm.

            “Do you feel better, Noiz-san?” he asks, and he knows you can’t answer with your mouth full but you make as affirmative a noise as you can. “Good, _good_ ,” he says, and you think he’s twisting his fingers in your hair.

            But you only feel a little bit better. You’re still terrified that they’re going to hurt Mizuki, and this hardly makes up for it. There was a time in your life that sucking two dicks was just the start of your night, and though you haven’t really prescribed to that lifestyle lately, you never left it on purpose. This isn’t a punishment. This isn’t what you deserve.

            Then there’s a body behind you, and you feel Trip’s arms grip your chest from behind. He cups you like you have breasts and it makes you start to cry out in surprise, but Virus makes sure you keep your mouth on him, so it’s more of a muffled sob. You can hear Trip laugh against your ear and the spit on his lips when he pulls them apart to speak.

            “Pull off him,” he says. You keep sucking for a few seconds until Trip repeats himself and you finally do, still in complete awe that these two are trying to instruct you. “Good,” Trip coos. “Lick up.”

            You do as Trip says, starting at the base and licking all the way to Virus’s slit, but you’ve already been doing that. You start to put your mouth over the head again but Trip pulls your head up by your hair.

            “No,” he says. “Keep licking. Hold it in your hand. Like a lollipop.”

            You can’t really do much but listen to him, because he has a hold of your body so tightly that you might explode if he squeezes too tight. Virus really does like it when you continuously lick his dick though, so you finally give in and keep doing it, over and over and over, waiting for your next orders from Trip. You can feel him quiver a bit under you and you’re sure that he’s close. Then Trip’s voice comes from behind you again:

            “Now tongue the slit.”

            You do. You poke your tongue inside the head and he’s coming all over your mouth before you know it. He’s much quieter when he comes, much more precise and controlled, and it occurs to you that you’ve never seen his face when he orgasms. Trip forces your head down and you lap up as much cum as you can, and when you’ve licked him clean, Trip pulls you back and thrusts you to the floor. He stands up and hovers behind you as Virus recollects himself and tucks himself back in, fingering a spot on his slacks that you missed. He frowns to himself and then takes a few seconds to bask in the afterglow – you assume that’s what he’s doing at least; he leans back and closes his eyes for a few seconds. Then he looks down at you and smiles his usual prim and proper smile.

            “Was that nice?” he asks. “To focus on someone else for once?”

            You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be mind-fucked or not right now; that wasn’t really that degrading, so you just shrug and look away.

            “Sure,” you say. You assume it’s over, that they’re going to leave and you’re going to have to call Mizuki or God forbid, Koujaku, and make sure everything is okay. You’re probably going to bite into your arm hard enough to feel it to get yourself calm enough to even sleep tonight. You might even have to drink enough to feel it or –

            You’re lost in thought, but Virus and Trip aren’t moving.

            “What?” you ask suddenly and Virus cocks his head at you.

            “Are you hard, Noiz-san?”

            You’re silent for a few seconds. You’re not hard. You don’t get hard from sucking people off. You only get hard from –

            “Do you want to come, Noiz-san?” Virus asks as he sticks his foot out and rests it against your crotch. Your breath catches and you make a gasping sound, not because it hurts but because you’re afraid it’s going to.

            He pushes down with the toe of his weird shoe and sits back, crosses his arms over his chest and watches you over the rim of his glasses. You can hear Trip laugh lightly behind you as Virus nudges your dick from below and pushes up hard. Okay, that’s making you sort of hard. You can feel that.

            He keeps rubbing the sole of his shoe over your clothed dick and you keep letting out little gasps and sighs without meaning to. He presses down every so often and it starts to _hurt_ but you’re also getting so _hard_ and finally he brings his foot back and kicks you – lightly, so lightly, but hard enough that a short shout is pulled from the back of your throat.

            “Are you hard _now_ , Noiz-san?” he asks and you nod immediately. He chuckles. “Then why don’t you make yourself come?”

            “Right now?” you ask, almost breathless.

            “Right now,” he nods. “In front of us. Put on a show.”

            You turn your head to the side a bit, your eyes still planted firmly on his face, which is unchanging. You swallow hard and unzip your pants and take out your dick. This still isn’t that bad. You thought he was going to step on you, make you bleed, crush your dick under his shoe, but he just _stopped_. You dig your fingernails into your dick as usual and that hurts far more than anything he just did.

            “Does that feel good, Noiz-san?”

            “Uh… uh-huh,” you nod, dragging your nails down your shaft. You pull on your piercings and it stings just a bit.

            “Do you want to keep doing that to yourself?”

            “Uh-huh,” you say again, gripping your balls hard and then scraping your way back up your dick. You stick a nail inside the slit and your shoulders jolt on their own.

            “That’s too bad,” Virus says, leaning down suddenly and coming only inches away from your face. Your hand stills as he says, “Even after we tried to help, you’re still only thinking about yourself?”

            Your eyes widen and you stop completely. He doesn’t like that.

            “Keep going, Noiz-san,” he says in a voice that is completely unlike him. It’s deep and grave and you’ve never heard him be that serious before. You keep clawing your nails down your dick.

            “We even thought of each other while you were sucking our dicks,” Trip says behind you and you stitch your brow to keep yourself from tearing up and start to breathe faster. “But the second you can, you go back to yourself.”

            Oh, fuck. Your mouth drops open when you realize that he’s right, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Virus’s, who’s still so close you can smell his breath. You’re not going to cry but you’re anxious and you’re not sure you should keep going. But you don’t think you can stop either.

            “You _are_ selfish, Noiz-san,” Virus says, finally leaning back and watching you from above again. “You’re just a selfish little boy.”

            You lurch forward and a strangled sob escapes your throat. He’s so much like your dad right now and your dad was so right; you hated him and you still hate him but he’s right, you’re selfish and you don’t think about anyone but yourself and you hate yourself more than you could ever hate your father; Mizuki’s face is so round and his cheeks are so plump when he smiles but his body looks so lean and muscular and you just want to know what it looks like, you just want to have it against you, even if you can’t feel it, but you don’t deserve that. There’s not a thing you could do to make up for all the shit you’ve done, there’s nothing you can do to deserve Mizuki, and Virus is still talking, still chiding from above, little jeers like, “ _You made yourself this way, Noiz-san,”_ and, _“Do you know what it’s like to live for someone else?”_ and, _“Keep going, Noiz-san,”_ and, _“You know exactly what you like, of course, because you don’t know anyone else.”_

You hum low to yourself when you’re close to orgasm, the self-loathing and sheer agony of being you is all you need to bring you to the edge, and when you finally come onto your carpet, your hum crescendos into a deeper moan and you fall forward, catch yourself with your other palm, and you can’t bear to look up when you’ve finished. You wish you could say it was hardly satisfying, but you could fell that one. You could feel that orgasm as a faint warmth in your pelvis, which is about the strongest you can ever feel, and you know it’s because they know exactly how much you hate yourself. Virus is still on the couch, probably leering down at you, disappointed, and you don’t know why you feel so shitty for disappointing _Virus_ , but you do.

            Trip is the first to move. You can hear him headed toward the door and then Virus’s shoes move out of your view as he follows him. You’re left on the floor, dick in hand, but before they leave, you have to ask. You have to make sure. You take a breath to muster the courage and then you say it, still on your palm, still with your head nodding toward the floor.

            “Trip,” you moan weakly. There’s no answer but their footsteps stop. “You’re not going to do anything, right?”

            There’s still no answer. It’s Virus who asks:

            “What do you mean?”

            “You’re not going to do anything – to – Dry Juice?”

            “Dry Juice?” Virus asks. You hear Trip laugh, but it turns into a somewhat frustrated moan and he sighs.

            “Dry Juice… hm… I only said that to get inside,” he says.

            You’re confused. You sit up and you turn around to them.

            “What are you talking about?”

            Trip is staring at you with his crooked smile. It’s turned up on the right side and his head is tilted to the side.

            “I can dye my own hair,” he says. “I just wanted to see what would happen. I said whatever I thought of to make him let me in. Your friend at Dry Juice was the first thing that popped into my head.”

            “What are you talking about?” Virus asks, obviously bewildered and a bit annoyed. “Mizuki-san?”

            “Don’t,” you say before you can stop yourself. You _hate_ hearing Virus say Mizuki’s name.

            “Did you take that seriously?” Trip asks and you can’t believe it. You weren’t supposed to take that seriously? That wasn’t a real threat? So was Koujaku wrong…?

            No. _No_. That’s the worst part. Koujaku _was_ wrong – Koujaku swore that Trip wouldn’t lie, but he very obviously did – but you’re still the one who brought the yakuza to Koujaku’s house. You’re still the one who put Mizuki in the middle of it just for your own stupid pleasure. You’re still the one who was more interested in seeing Koujaku uncomfortable than thinking about what the yakuza were capable of, and you’re still the one who’s the selfish asshole.

            “No,” you say. “I didn’t. Just go.”

            They both turn to the door again and Virus starts scolding Trip as they open it to exit (he pauses to grab the back of his shirt and say, _“What is on the collar of your shirt?”_ and Trip groans).

            You stare at the floor. You suppose Mizuki is safe. You suppose Mizuki was always safe. You suppose you didn’t need to do any of this. A part of you tries to convince yourself that you brought them over here to distract them, as if you were making some ultimate sacrifice for Mizuki’s sake, but you don’t know why. You know you bring them over here because they fuck the hate out of you. You know you bring them over here because it validates you. You know you bring them over because you want to feel something, and they’re the only ones who treat you harshly enough for that.

            But you also know that Virus and Trip are not just dangerous, but also unpredictable. Virus seemed completely clueless, so you assume Trip didn’t say a word to him about Mizuki. And the more you think about this, the more ridiculous it seems. Maybe Koujaku wasn’t actually this worried. Maybe you’re blowing this out of proportion. Maybe Koujaku just wanted to yell at you –

            Maybe Koujaku was sort of right, but he didn’t think it was _this_ serious. Maybe you’re being a dumbass about this. Mizuki is probably safe at home, cuddled up with his insane amount of cats, probably thinking about everyone else in the world before you pop into his mind, because he has other people in his life, unlike you. Maybe Mizuki is with someone else right now. Maybe Mizuki is on a date. Maybe Mizuki is on a date with a beautiful girl, who can feel his touch and tell when he’s making a joke about her being a child. Mizuki is probably just fine.

            But Virus and Trip are too fucked up and you don’t trust anything right now, especially yourself. You’re up, cleaning yourself up as best you can, and you’re out the door, on the way to Mizuki’s place, before you’re even done with the thought.

            Your heart pounds in your ears. What if he’s not there? If he’s not at his place, you’ll check Black Needle, obviously, but what if he’s not there, either? What if Trip was lying about lying? How far can this go? Is Trip really that smart? Is Trip a secret genius? That’s _exactly_ what would happen to you. You wouldn’t doubt for a second if Trip suddenly revealed himself to be the next Einstein. He’s so fucking –

            You’re knocking on Mizuki’s door before you realize that you’re even at his apartment; there’s a silence afterwards and you’re suddenly extremely aware that you have absolutely no clue what to say. You almost hope now that he isn’t home. _What do you say?_

            A light flicks on. Shit.

            The doorknob turns and Mizuki is standing in front of you and in that moment you are only grateful and relieved and you let out a gulp of air, your head relaxes (you didn’t even realize it was tensed), and you smile the tiniest bit. He’s not in trouble. He’s fine. He’s at home. In sweatpants. Baggy, gray sweatpants. And a long-sleeve shirt. He looks really – pleasing. To the eye.

            But he’s not smiling back and you flip back to scared again. You try to think of something to say but you’re really coming up with nothing.

            “What are you doing here?” he asks. He doesn’t sound put out, but he doesn’t seem thrilled to see you either. You lick your bottom lip and try to think of something – anything, even something sarcastic, but you can’t.

            “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

            It spills from your lips and not only can you not stop it, but you don’t even care to at this point. Mizuki still doesn’t smile. He folds his arms and looks at you from under his bangs.

            “Make sure I was okay?”

            “Yeah,” you say weakly. That was dumb. You should have come up with a lie.

            “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

            You shake your head slightly, your mouth hanging open a bit and you stare at him. You don’t know. No, of course you know. But you can’t tell him. You shrug finally, and shut your mouth. You probably look like a trout.

            “Are _you_ okay?” he asks, crinkling his nose and that’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

            “Fine.”

            “Okay…” he says, turning to look inside his apartment, and then back to you. “Well, I was just about to eat dinner. Do you want to come in?”

            You don’t want to say yes. But then why did you come here? Well, you came here to check on him. But what will he think? But you don’t want to have just shown up at his door and then have come in and eaten his food. But he won’t understand why you’re here if you don’t – whatever. You could think yourself in circles until you drop dead, but he’s expecting an answer _now._

            “Sure,” you shrug. He steps out of your way and you walk inside, two of his cats immediately greeting you. You recognize one of them, but the other is a sheer, steel gray that you didn’t have the pleasure of meeting last time.

            “Do you like pizza?” he asks and you laugh.

            “Does anyone not like pizza?”

            “Koujaku,” he shrugs and heads down the hallway to the kitchen. You laugh even harder.

            “I knew Koujaku was a freak.”

            He stops just before he reaches his kitchen and whirls around, crosses his arms again and looks at you with furrowed brows. You stop laughing immediately and you’re frozen in spot. He’s mad.

            “Koujaku’s a freak, huh?” he asks, and you remain absolutely silent. “Well, Koujaku called me earlier and he told me about your hilarious little prank.”

            You fucking _hate_ Koujaku; you hate him with the passion of a thousand fiery suns but you know that he was probably in the right here.

            “What are you thinking, getting involved with the yakuza?” he continues. “You talked to the _yakuza_ , just to fuck around with Koujaku?”

            You tilt your head to the side a bit. Does he not know…?

            “I, uh – I knew them,” you say. “Already. They owed me.”

            “ _Owed_ you? What the hell did you ever do for them?”

            To be fair, you did have a few dealings with corrupt powers, especially Midorijima’s ridiculous joke of a police force, back when Rhyme was more important and you were still brokering information. You never knew Virus and Trip _personally_ back then, but you definitely had seen them around. And they were the kind of people whose reputations kind of preceded them.

            “Just a bunch of shit a long time ago,” you say honestly. Sort of. “Back when Rhyme was still officiated by Usui.”

            “Uh-huh,” Mizuki nods and studies you, his tongue poking at the side of his mouth. “And you decided the favor you were going to have them repay you with was to fuck with Koujaku?”

            You shrug.

            “Guess so.”

            Mizuki looks at you for a few more seconds and then, to your absolute shock and relief, he chuckles. He doesn’t know about Trip’s threat. Maybe Koujaku isn’t so fucking bad, after all.

            “Well, Virus and Trip are the worst of them,” he says. “Seriously. You need to be careful with all of them. But _especially_ Virus and Trip. I don’t think they’re human.”

            “I’ve wondered that too,” you say. “I’d say I think they’re here to study us but I don’t know if they’re capable.”

            Mizuki snorts and that’s so fucking good to hear. Not just because you’re reveling in the fact that he’s safe, but also the fact that he’s not mad at you. Is that selfish? Should Mizuki know that he was almost in danger? But he wasn’t, was he? You really were just exaggerating, weren’t you? Even Koujaku didn’t tell him.

            “Look, I can’t tell you what to do, but they rub me the wrong way. Don’t get mixed up with them and end up getting hurt or something.”

            Again, the words leave your mouth before you can do anything to stop them:

            “Would that bother you?”

            Mizuki tips his head to the side.

            “Would what bother me?”

            You feel a little stupid, but you can’t let the question go unanswered now.

            “If someone hurt me?”

            “Of course,” he says, and you’re just as overwhelmed by how immediate his response was as you are by the response itself. But you suppose you shouldn’t be, should you? Friends don’t want friends to get hurt. That shouldn’t be so shocking to you.

            “Yeah,” you nod, putting your hands in your pockets and an awkward silence falls until Mizuki smiles slightly.

            “So… pizza?”

            You nod again and he brings his Coil up.

            “What do you like?”

            You like pepperoni, sausage, pineapple and extra barbecue sauce. You’ve never felt stupid about your pizza preferences before but you suddenly really dislike the idea of Mizuki making fun of you. You shrug.

            “Come on,” he says. “If you don’t tell me I’m going to get pineapple and ruin it.”

            “Pineapple doesn’t ruin it.”

            He throws his hands up and shouts, “ _Right_?” and you laugh a little bit. He orders a large pizza with pepperoni, jalapenos and pineapple, breadsticks, soda, and a few other things you don’t hear because he’s sat you down on his couch already and the cats have moved in. When he’s done with the call he comes into the room and puts his hands on his hips as he stares at you and you count six cats around you on the couch. You’re trying to give them all equal attention, but there’s a big brown one that is especially needy. You look at up Mizuki with a desperate frown.

            “What do I do?”

            “They like you,” he says. “They gang up on Koujaku and Aoba, too.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah,” he nods, taking a seat on the floor and you try to stand up without sending the cats toppling to the floor.

            “You can sit on the couch,” you say. “You sat on the floor last time.”

            “It’s fine,” he waves you off. “You have a lot of very finicky animals on you right now. You don’t want to upset them.” You smile a bit and then he points at a large, orange one with green eyes and says, “Pet him. He’s the softest.”

            You feel the smile flicker and you open your mouth to say something but then you shut it immediately and instead reach over to the cat, pet him gently – or what you think is gently – and then turn to Mizuki and nod.

            “Really soft,” you say. Mizuki grins and then turns to his box of pillows and your heart breaks for him and you don’t know why. _You’re_ the one who can’t fucking feel. Why do you feel sorry for him?

            Twenty minutes later the pizza gets there, and twenty minutes after that, Mizuki’s started another movie – another old American thing, some shitty movie that you already can’t pay attention to, because once again he’s on the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged and eating pizza like a child and it’s so fucking cute you want to scream. He let the cats out on his screened-in porch so that they don’t bother you while you eat, and you bite into the pizza to find –

            That you _really_ don’t like jalapenos.

            “Haven’t you _had_ jalapenos before in your life?” he’s asking as you down a glass of milk over his sink. You try to nod as best you can but you think you got a seed or something and it’s overwhelming and all you want is to hold the milk in your mouth to cool it down. When you get to the last gulp you swish it around between your lips and then look at him with furrowed brows, your cheeks bulging with liquid. He covers his mouth to laugh at you and you frown. You like _pineapple_ because you like the sweet taste of it against something salty like pepperoni, but you’ve _never_ been a fan of spicy foods.

            “I’m so sorry,” he laughs. “I should have mentioned it. You know, I like their pizza best because the jalapenos are so much spicier. I don’t know how. I like it, though.”

            You swallow the gulp of milk and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Then you suddenly flashback to Trip, to Virus, to wiping your mouth clean of them with the same hand and looking down to see white liquid against your skin and when you look back up to Mizuki, smiling and staring at you like he cares, you realize you should not be standing in his kitchen. You should not be here at all. You don’t deserve to be here and Mizuki does not deserve to have to deal with someone like you. He doesn’t need you disgracing his home, his home where he shelters stray cats and brings his friends, his friends who aren’t you, his friends who actually deserve to _be_ his friend – even fucking Koujaku, who can at least not put him in danger. You came here to make sure he was safe and he is. Now you should leave.

            “I should go,” you mutter and you shoulder past him, heading for the front door. Your mouth still burns a little. Mizuki turns after you.

            “Wh – why?” he asks, pausing before following behind you.

            “I should just – let you get back to – whatever – I just should go,” you trip over your words and hear his steps catch up to you. He grabs your shoulder to stop you.

            “Hey, I’m sorry,” he says and that kills you too. He shouldn’t have to be sorry. “It wasn’t – the jalapenos, was it?”

            “No,” you shake your head and turn around again but his fingers grip you and pull you back again. You stumble a bit and he pulls his hand back quickly. When you look at his face, his eyebrows are raised and his mouth is agape.

            “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to – touch you.”

            You don’t answer. He hesitates for a second but then he looks you in the eye and gives you a sad smile.

            “I’m sorry, did I – do something?” he asks. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

            He’s said this before. Back when you offered him a blowjob. He thought he’d done something to imply he wanted that from you, and he had. He’s said several times that you’re attractive. He’s made more than one comment about being interested in you, which is why it’s utterly confusing why he won’t just fuck you.

            “No,” you say, before you can offer him a blowjob again. “You didn’t. This was just very selfish of me.”

            “Selfish?”

            “To just show up at your place like this. It was selfish. I’m selfish. I have to go.”

            “You’re not selfish,” he says and it sounds so genuine and pleading that you have to believe him. At least for a second.

            “You don’t think I’m selfish?”

            “No,” he shrugs. “Not for coming over uninvited, at least.”

            You look at the ground and run your tongue over your bottom lip. You just have to hear it.

            “Can you – can you say it again?”

            “Say what again?”

            “Tell me I’m not selfish.”

            You peek up at him and he looks confused, but then he crosses his arms and he studies you as if you have some sort of mutual understanding. You don’t. But he looks like he understands what you want. He can’t.

            “You’re not selfish, Noiz.”

            You take a deep breath. Nothing has ever meant so much to you. Even though he can’t really mean that, because he doesn’t know what you did – still, the fleeting feeling is better than any validation you got from Virus or Trip.

            You just don’t deserve it.

            “It’s just that – I came over here – didn’t tell you – you hardly know me, and I just showed up –”

            “Right,” Mizuki interrupts. “I hardly know you. But I’d like to.”

            Your head snaps up and you stare at him. That wasn’t provoked. You didn’t ask him to say that. And you’ve made it incredibly clear to him that he doesn’t have to do that if all he wants is to fuck you. And if anything, you owe him at this point. So he must really mean this.

            “You don’t want to know me,” you tell him.

            “I do.”

            “You really don’t.”

            “Why not?”

            You stare at him, your mouth hanging open, exasperated, and shrug. There’s nothing to say. He doesn’t deserve to put up with you, but you don’t know how to tell him that. He nods his head back toward the living room.

            “Come on. Stay. Watch the movie,” he says. “Please?”

            You can’t deny that you want to stay. You want to stay so badly, you want to eat pizza and watch a movie and touch him on his couch, even just your thighs, even just the slightest brush of your fingers, even if you can’t actually feel him. You nod and start to walk back into the kitchen. He smiles and bumps you with his shoulder.

            “I’ll pick off all the jalapeños,” he says and you roll your eyes.

            “It wasn’t – they just surprised me,” you tell him.

            “Oh no,” he nods. “I’m sure. I’m just saying. We’ll pick them off for your little baby mouth.”

            You fall asleep on the couch while watching the movie again but this time he doesn’t wake you up until he’s putting a blanket over you and slipping a pillow under your head. You register it but you don’t want to leave so when the sun starts streaming in the living room window in the morning, waking you up, you have to decide if you should just slip out or if you should wake him up first. He’s on the floor, wrapped in a blanket and curled up slightly. It must be cold. Pillows surround him and he looks so content, his mouth open just slightly as his shoulders rise and fall slowly, that you can’t wake him up. When you try to get up, you hear a sharp meow and you realize there are about seven cats surrounding you. That’s reason enough for you to stay until he wakes up and you try not to look at him while he sleeps. You lie on his couch with his cats and you could never have imagined that having a friend would be like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will be real with u i am terrified that noiz is gettin ooc =\ oH BUT LISTEN [TO THIS PLAYLIST](http://8tracks.com/truejaku/and-then-you-bring-me-home-a-mizunoiz-fanmix) its not the best but its what i listen to while i write the mizunoiz


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noiz will come to know this weekend as the first time he ever made amends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **HEY! CONTENT WARNING!** this chapter deals with consent and trust! i would not personally label it noncon or dubcon seeing as nothing actually transgresses BUT! if that sort of thing makes you nervous, be warned, or don't read. but be aware that this entire fic is going to deal with subject matter that can effect and/or trigger people. things are going to be intense sometimes but i will always ALWAYS do my best to add content warnings at the beginnings of chapters. (don't forget, noiz is supposed to grow by the end of this fic and it's a slow burn; most of his thought processes are very flawed)

            Everything comes in waves these days; where things used to be a solid, flat, constant line of self-loathing and self-indulgence and complete apathy, now you find yourself actually questioning your long-held belief that you can’t deserve love, but every time you catch yourself doing so, you feel all the dumber. It’s still hard to accept – and you don’t totally believe it yet – but every time Mizuki smiles at you from across the bar, every time Mizuki invites you over for movie night, every time Mizuki tries to teach you your apparent secret shake (which you will never, _ever_ get right), you start to wonder. If Mizuki, whose mere existence has made you question your also long-held disbelief in God, wants to be with you, maybe there’s hope for you.

            You’ve never felt that – hope – and it’s fleeting, of course, but it’s there. It’s there even when you think of Virus and Trip, it’s there even when you’re _with_ Virus and Trip, and it’s there when you’re alone. It’s there when you’re staring at your brother’s phone number, wondering if you can call (you still haven’t; you’ll have to work up to it still, and you don’t know how yet, so you content yourself with sitting back on your bed, staring at the scrawling on the sheet, and knowing that this is the best you’ve ever felt while looking at this scrap of paper).

            It’s somewhat overwhelming, though, and you often find your brain overheating as it races with thoughts you’ve never had before. It’s overworked constantly as you consider every possible outcome of every possible situation, as you wonder if doing _this_ will earn you a smile from Mizuki or if doing _that_ will garner a huge, jeering laugh from Beni Shigure. Koujaku is still mad at you for putting Mizuki in danger, so he’s no help and you think you’re getting back on his bad side by being accepting of the situation and apologetic when you can be (you’re on his _hardly even acknowledges you when you’re in the room_ side right now, so _bad_ would be a huge upgrade). You try to poke at him less, not just because you feel badly for worrying him, but also because you don’t want Mizuki to think that you’re immature. You wonder if being worried over Koujaku shows maturity, but then you see his face again and you want to punch it. You remember that if this hadn’t all involved Mizuki, you wouldn’t really have cared less about Koujaku. That makes you feel better. Is that immature? Whatever. All you really care about is Mizuki’s smile.

            You go to Black Needle so often now that you’re starting to stake your claim on a stool and no one tries to fight you on it. You sit across from Mizuki when he helps behind the bar and admire his deft hands, clad in those fingerless leather gloves you love so much. Sometimes you accidentally imagine them tied to a bedpost, but then you stop yourself. Mizuki doesn’t deserve that. And you’re getting better at not doing it. Sometimes you slip. What can you say? Mizuki is very appealing.

            Mizuki likes to tease you and though he’s careful not to cross any lines, he doesn’t seem to understand that you have had _no_ real friends before him and any sort of attention that he gives you is hard for you to remember is only platonic. He seems to think that you’re making a general statement when you tell him he’s the first person who’s ever wanted to hang out with you, and it’s not as if he knows your childhood, so you guess you can’t blame him, but it makes it that much harder when he winks or when he suggests that the two of you play Spin The Bottle as a passing joke. It makes it harder to laugh it off and treat it like a joke, because you desperately wish it wasn’t.

            You wouldn’t say you want to _date_ Mizuki, but the thought of taking him out to dinner and treating him to a night of anything he wanted has crossed your mind several times. You mostly just want to give him what he deserves – which is everything he’s ever wanted, as far as you can tell – but you wouldn’t mind if what he wanted was a kiss or two – or maybe a blowjob or something like that. You’re not sure you could handle a monogamous relationship, but you find yourself more and more willing to try it with every passing day and you have to remind yourself that Mizuki doesn’t want that from you. He’s just teasing you. Like a friend does.

            Of course, he’s even flirtier when he’s drunk, which he is right now, as he flops forward and onto your shoulder. You smile and prop him up. He’s not wasted, but he’s definitely past tipsy. There’s no real slur in his speech, but you swear his cheeks are a bit red and he’s been a little more hands-y than usual.

            “I think I had one too many while I was helping serve,” he says with a sly smile. He’s got one hand resting against your shoulder as he stares you in the eye. You have to twist your neck and turn your head to the side to look at him.

            “You think?” you ask, raising your eyebrows. He reeks of beer.

            “Just one,” he says, pinching his fingers in front of your face. “Anyway, everyone’s headed out. It’s closing time, pal.”

            “You’re going to need help getting home,” you say but he shakes his head.

            “Nah, I got it,” he pulls away and points at the bar. “I got people closing up for me. I’m just gonna walk home.”

            “I doubt it,” you smile. “You can hardly stand.”

            “That’s an exaggeration,” he says with cross eyebrows. “I can most definitely stand on my own.”

            “Alright,” you concede. “Fine. Let me walk you home anyway.”

            “If you _insist_ ,” he says quickly, and he takes your hand in his for a brief second as he leads you to the door but then he drops it, almost consciously, as if he suddenly decided it was a bad idea. He still very rarely touches you, and you wonder if it’s because of the one time, months ago, that you pulled away. You don’t know if you regret that. That’s something that comes in waves too: wanting to touch Mizuki so badly you think you might explode. The only thing that comforts you is knowing that you wouldn’t be able to feel him anyway.

            And it washes over you a few minutes later when he stumbles for the second time and you reach out to grab him with a laugh, lace his arm around your shoulders and grip him under his other arm.

            “Come on, lightweight,” you say under your breath. Mizuki laughs from the back of his throat.

            “Oh yeah, Mr. Never-Seen-You-Have-More-Than-Two-Drinks?” he chides, his voice dripping with amusement. You smile.

            “I like being in control of my faculties,” you tell him and you’re grateful he doesn’t know how much of a lie that is. He snorts.

            “Well, now you’re in control of _my_ faculties,” he says. “And I’m trusting you.”

            You know he’s joking but you take the task very seriously. He smells like liquor and cigarettes and you don’t want to forget this, so you focus very hard on memorizing every little detail that you can. His face looks rough and ruddy up close and when he laughs you can feel it come from his stomach. He lets his head drop to your shoulder for a few seconds every now and then and you never, _ever_ thought you’d see Mizuki this way, but you’re not surprised that he’s such a happy drunk. You’re not surprised that hearing his laugh makes you laugh too. You’re not surprised that when he smiles you feel like, for just one second, everything is going to be fine and maybe you aren’t as fucked up as you think you are.

            When you finally get to his place, you let him unlock the door and all of his cats come rushing toward you. He throws his keys on a table by the door and nods toward his bedroom.

            “I have to feed them real quick,” he says. “Come on.”

            “That’s okay,” you tell him. “I’ll just wait out here.”

            “Why?” he wrinkles his eyebrows. “It’ll just take a minute.”

            “That’s okay,” you repeat. You don’t want to see Mizuki’s bedroom. Bedrooms are too personal. If you see Mizuki’s bedroom, you’ll know where Mizuki sleeps. You’ll start to imagine the face you saw sleeping on his living room floor in his bed instead, and you’ll start to imagine waking up next to that face in that bed, and you can’t allow yourself to do that. You’re fine with just his living room.

            “What’s wrong?” he asks but you head down the hallway before he can stop you.

            “I’ll just wait on the couch,” you tell him and you get out of the entryway as quick as you can, so that he doesn’t have the time to answer.

            You sit yourself down on the loveseat and wonder if you should have just left. He’s not _that_ drunk. He could definitely take care of himself at this point and he probably won’t even be too hungover in the morning. You sit there staring at his TV, wondering if you should see yourself out, worried that he’s going to ask you why you didn’t want to see his bedroom. It’s stupid, you know, but it’s always been something you avoid. The first girl you ever kissed let you in her bedroom and you were too young to realize that she didn’t want you to stay the night, so when she told you to leave, your romantic notions of waking up next to another person crashed down around you. You’re not sure why you had them in the first place. You were trying something new. It was your first night in Midorijima and you thought maybe things would be different. Maybe people on this island would actually want you. So yeah, that was stupid.

            You don’t want to know what Mizuki’s bedroom looks like because you know the first thing you’ll do is think about being in it, waking up in it, watching the sun come in through the window as Mizuki sleeps next to you. You’ll imagine wrapping an arm around him and inhaling him as he cuddles into you and you’re grateful that he wants to be your friend, but you’re well aware that he doesn’t want to be your _boy_ friend. Even if he wants to sleep with you, he doesn’t want to date you. The idea of feeling his bed sheets is laughable, so you don’t want the possibility to creep in at all.

            It really does just take him a minute to feed the cats, as the second you’re shaking your head to jar the thoughts from your mind, he’s staggering in and plopping himself down on the couch next to you. He leans backwards and pokes you in the side so you turn to him with a smile.

            “What?”

            “Thanks for walking me home,” he says. “You really didn’t need to.”

            “I didn’t want to leave someone as delicate as you to the darkness of the night,” you smirk. He raises his eyebrows.

            “I don’t know if you know this,” he says, his voice deep and serious but obviously joking, “but I run the biggest Rib team on the island. People are terrified of me.”

            “ _I’m_ not,” you lie.

            He leans forward and puts his forehead against yours and your heart starts racing. He did it so fast that you didn’t have time to pull away and now that he’s this close, there’s nothing you want less than to break the contact.

            “You should be.”

            You shudder. You look him in the eyes and you know you look terrified; you can’t help it. Your eyes are wide and your mouth splits open and the best response you can think of is to grab the collar of his jacket and finally – _finally_ – crash your lips into his. Youdo it so fast that you didn’t have time to think it through. He tastes like berries and salt and you wonder if you can get drunk just on his lips alone.

            You’re kissing Mizuki and you are terrified.

            His first reaction is to yelp and he doesn’t kiss back. He leans back a bit and you know how stupid this was but you can’t pull away because this might be the only chance you get to kiss him. You start to push your lips against his more and you think a desperate squeak might escape you and you’d be more embarrassed if you weren’t so focused on how warm his lips are against yours. This is the most you’ll ever be able to feel Mizuki, and you want to remember it forever.

            You figure you should pull away soon, maybe run straight home and never see him again when a hand squeezes your knee so hard that you can feel it. You don’t have time to look down before Mizuki’s hands are on your face, grabbing both cheeks, and he’s pushing forward, his lips pursing into yours and you almost cry, you’re so happy. He’s kissing you back. You kissed him and he’s kissing you back and now he’s opening his mouth and it’s escalating so much quicker than you thought it would, but you couldn’t be happier. He moans a bit as you stick your tongue out and swipe it against his bottom lip. He shivers.

            Mizuki is kissing you back and suddenly nothing bad has ever happened to you in your entire life.

            “You have your tongue pierced,” he breathes, and he doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s kissing you again, open-mouthed and sloppy and you love it. He tilts his head to one side and you tilt yours to the other, making it easier to accept his clumsy lips every time he knocks them against yours. He’s not bad at kissing, just fervent, and you weren’t expecting it.

            His hand is back, firmly planted on your knee, and his other is on your cheek and you think he might have glued himself to you because he doesn’t move for what feels like forever. He bruises you with kisses but doesn’t seem to dare move his hands. It’s strange, so you take them by the wrists finally and place them at his side as you push him down on the couch. He whimpers a bit and pulls his lips off you as his head rests against the armrest and you loom over him, wedging your knee between his legs. You’re going to ride him, you’ve already decided, harder and better than he’s ever had before. You’re going to make sure he doesn’t ever forget it. Even if there comes a day where he forgets you, he’ll never forget the best sex of his life, and you’re going to give it to him.

            But then he puts a hand up against your mouth when you lean down to plant another kiss on his lips and you pull away.

            “I don’t – think we should.”

            You stare at him, wait for him to finish his sentence, and then you realize that was it. He’s done talking. You smile in disbelief.

            “Don’t think we should what?”

            “I don’t think we _should_ ,” he says. “I don’t think we should do – more. Whatever it is you were about to do.”

            You turn your head to the side, still smiling. He’s joking. He’s not looking you in the eye and he’s blushing a little. He must be joking.

            “Yeah, right,” you say, dipping down to kiss him but he stops you again.

            “I’m not kidding,” he says. “I don’t want to – I don’t think we should.”

            You furrow your eyebrows at him and shake your head. What does he mean? He kissed you back. He _wants_ to fuck you, he’s made it clear. He’s all but _said_ before that he’d like to sleep with you. He’s spending so much time with you. And he’s hard, right now, against your thigh. You don’t get it. _Why won’t he fuck you?_

“But,” you protest. You don’t know what else to do. All you know is that you want to please him, so you reach down and cup his dick in your hand. “You’re hard.”

            “ _So?”_ he gasps, pulling your hand away by the wrist. He shoves up with his shoulder and pushes you backward. “Just because I’m hard doesn’t mean I want to do anything!”

            “ _What_?” you shout. “But you’re _hard!_ Don’t you want someone to… take care of it?”

            “If I want to take care of it I’ll do it myself!” he shouts back, sitting up and pulling away from you. This is not going at all as you thought it would.

            “But _I’ll_ do it,” you say. “Why would you go jerk off when you can fuck me?”

            “Because I don’t want to fuck you!” he spits. He sure sobered up fast and the words cut you deeper than you would have thought. You get off the couch, humiliated, and not at all in the same way that Virus and Trip make you feel. You start to walk backwards out of the room because you can’t think of anything to say. You’re sputtering like an idiot. You don’t know how this happened.

            “What did I do wrong?” you ask and he stares at you like you grew another head.

            “You didn’t do anything _wrong_ ,” he yells, “I just want you to listen to me. I said I don’t want to do anything. Can’t you be okay with that?”

            Of course you can. You want him so bad, but more importantly, you want him to want you back. And when he says it like that, you realize that he’s right. You thought he was just trying to be nice or playing hard-to-get. He was hard. He was kissing you back. You thought he wanted it. This is the worst thing you’ve ever done.

            “That’s just – I didn’t… No one’s ever stopped when I – fuck,” you stammer. “I’m sorry. I never thought about – I’m so sorry.”

            You turn on your heel and run as fast as you fucking can to his front door, stumbling over a couple cats on the way. He shouts after you but you don’t know what he says and he doesn’t get up to try to stop you. He lets you go.

            Your first thought is to check the time. It’s almost three in the morning. But it’s a Saturday, which means Virus and Trip are out late and, if you’re patched-together schedule for them is right, somewhere around Bug Bomb territory.

            You don’t want to go home alone tonight.

            As you make your way to the Bug Bomb hideout, you start to think about the girl on your first night here and the businessman who would call you up a lot when you were seventeen. You never told them no. You wanted to.

            Mizuki’s face had been so _shocked_ , and that’s what gets you. He didn’t even look as angry as he looked incredulous, completely surprised, taken aback that you would do something like this to him. You feel the same way. He said he trusted you and you fucked that up. And now you can’t ever see Mizuki again. You can’t go to Black Needle or Mizuki’s house or anywhere that he might be. You don’t get to see Mizuki anymore because you fucked this up and you can’t even feel sorry for yourself for this. You _really_ fucked up.

            Your voice is shaky as you ask a green-haired kid if he’s seen the yakuza, and he rolls his eyes as he nods his head toward the alleyway. He says they left a little bit ago, but you could probably still find them somewhere around the neighborhood so you focus only on finding the two blond douchebags, because if you think about Mizuki any longer you might break down right here. Maybe you should have just gone home.

            But then you see a pair of broad shoulders – not broad like Mizuki’s – and a blond head of hair and you hate that there’s something comforting about seeing Trip’s moronic face. He turns in the alley and spots you, smiles his demonic grin at you and you shake your head at his dead eyes. Virus’s head pokes out from behind him and he nods. This was a long shot. You can’t believe you found them. Maybe it was divine intervention. Someone, somewhere agrees that you deserve this.

            “Noiz-san!” Virus says with a smile. “What are you doing around here? This isn’t anywhere for a Rhymer to be.”

            “What are you up to?” you ask, ignoring his question. You have a feeling he doesn’t really care about your answer, anyway.

            “About to go home,” Trip says lazily and you roll your eyes. Then you notice that Trip’s tie is untied, hanging loose around his neck and Virus is carrying his jacket. Trip’s white button-down is dirtied and torn and it’s really dimly lit out here, but you think there might be blood on it. There’s definitely blood on his face when he turns to you. So it’s been that kind of night for them.

            “Do you want something from us, Noiz-san?”

            You take a deep breath and don’t answer. Trip takes a few steps forward and reaches out to pull on the string of your hat. You’ve gotten used to this kind of unexplainable behavior.

            “What do you want?” he asks.

            “I just want to get off,” you shrug. That’s not even exactly true. You just want someone to wreck you. Trip grins wider.

            “Cool,” he says, grabbing you by the shoulders and pushing you toward Virus at the end of the alleyway. He has you against the wall in seconds, your palms against the brick and he’s ripping at your shirt, pulling it up and running his fingers along your hips. He might be trying to tickle you. Joke’s on him.

            “Ah,” comes Virus’s gratingly patient voice from behind you. “You didn’t answer my question.”

            “Yeah,” Trip says into your ear as he pulls your shirt up and over your head. You can tell he’s smiling. “Answer him.”

            “No, I _don’t_ mind that your dicks are so small,” you spit and Trip pulls you back by your hair with a laugh.

            “That’s quite clever, Noiz-san,” Virus says. Your neck is stretched back so far it’s almost difficult to breathe. “It’s also quite old. This is the – oh, I’ve lost count. We’ve seen each other several times. You were not wandering around down here by chance. What happened?”

            You smile to yourself as Trip puts your hands against the wall again, just a bit above your head. You cradle your face into your arm and sink your teeth into your skin. Virus is right; avoiding their questions is getting old. All three of you know why you come and find them like this. You think you hear yourself start to laugh as you say, “ _I broke someone’s trust.”_

            “Is that as specific as you’d like to be?”

            You roll your eyes and Trip forces you to your knees.

            “Yes,” you say, and then your vision goes dark. There’s cloth around your eyes and Trip is tying it off behind your head and you tilt your head up to try to catch a glimpse out of the bottom of the blindfold, but it’s useless. Before you can say anything, Trip’s arms are around you and he’s picking you up – awkwardly, around your waist, so that your limbs are hanging from his arms like a doll and you don’t know where he puts you down. You’re on your hands and knees again though and your pants are ripped down, followed by your boxers. You put your hand back to try to stop him.

            “Where am I? What’s – what’re – ”

            No one answers you. Instead, both of your arms are yanked back and you fall to the ground, your chin slamming the pavement so hard that you bite your tongue. You cry out and Trip ties your hands as well, and you have a feeling you’re facing the street. Your pants are around your knees, making it difficult to stand, and even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to get very far.

            “Can someone see me?” you ask, though you’re so burnt out by now that you realize you don’t even really care. Spending a night in jail would at least mean you aren’t alone.

            “Of course not,” Virus says and he sounds like he’s squatting next to you but you never heard his footsteps approach. You hear the familiar sound of Trip spitting, and you rest your cheek against the ground. “Do you think we want to get caught?”

            “Somehow I don’t think you two would care,” you growl and Trip shoves a finger inside you. It’s slicked with his spit but it’s still uncomfortable so you grunt. It’s not extremely painful, but you’re not excited for another lube-less fuck session.

            “Well,” Virus singsongs. “Looks like you’ll just have to _trust_ us.”

            You laugh so hard that all the air escapes your lungs. Of course. You’ve laughed all your air out so you start breathing in spurts, still sort of chortling as Trip opens you messily; he’s not lazy or inept, he’s more eager and animalistic, like he’s overexcited and chomping at the bit. You expect some sort of deranged laughter from him, but he is, as always, completely silent.

            Virus is too, which is peculiar, but Trip makes quick work of inserting three fingers into you, all lubed with spit and when he’s done, he picks you up by your waist and positions your ass in the air, but just when you expect him to enter you, Virus coughs.

            “Wait,” he says. “I’m sure Noiz-san would prefer more lube.”

            You don’t say anything as Trip lets go of you and you’re on the ground, your arms tied behind your back and completely blinded until fingers grip your chin and rip your head up. Trip’s dick pokes at your lips and then forces its way into your mouth and he pushes into you a few times, soft enough to keep you from gagging but hard enough to make you wince.

            “Get it as wet as you can,” he says darkly and you don’t even care anymore. You work up as much spit as you can but he hardly sticks around. In less than a minute he’s behind you again, lifting you up again and then you feel his dick breaching your entrance. The air is going to dry out any sort of lubrication the spit is giving you, but something tells you they know that.

            You’re silent for the most part as Trip pumps into you, your cheek back on cold, damp gravel. You grunt a bit but that’s it. It doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t hurt – but it doesn’t feel good, either. And without your hands to jerk off, you’re completely flaccid. Something tells you they don’t care about that this time. _You_ don’t even care if you get off this time; you just wanted someone to fuck into the ground like this, you just –

            “What was that?” you ask, turning your head and propping yourself up with your chin.

            “What was what, Noiz-san?”

            “Was that – ”

            You stop talking. You can definitely hear a voice. More than one voice. They’re getting closer. There are people coming.

            “Is that people?”

            You hear footsteps fade away and then you groan as Trip shoves into you particularly hard. The footsteps come back as you’re catching your breath again.

            “It does appear that people are approaching the alleyway,” Virus says from above you.

            “Can they see us?”

            “No,” Trip grunts as he shoves in again. “I’m close.”

            You’d harass him for being so quick if you weren’t preoccupied with the idea of someone seeing you like this. You love this, you love being thrown to the ground and fucked like you deserve, but you can’t have anyone know. Especially not a Ribster.

            “Are you sure?” you ask and you’re surprised how airy you voice is. What if it’s someone who knows Mizuki?

            “I’m telling you, they can’t see us,” Virus says. He’s closer now, to the side of your face, and he pushes your face back down so that the other cheek lies against the ground now. “Don’t you trust us, Noiz-san?”

            You practically sob when he says it, and then you feel a faint trickling inside of you. Trip grunts as he comes and you can’t believe how quick that was. He puts one hand around the back of your neck and the other on your waist. He sinks his nails into your skin and you realize that you kind of like being held around your waist like that. You wonder if Mizuki would have ever done that.

            You can hear the voices louder now, and you swear they’re right in front of you. You strain to hear what they’re saying – if they’re saying anything about you – but it’s as if something is muffling them at the last second. And just as quickly as Trip came, the voices move on, leaving you a silent mess on the ground. You have absolutely no idea where you are.

            Trip pulls out and after a few seconds, he pulls you up by your hair, shoves you up onto your knees, and pushes on your lower back. Then he picks you up again and sits you down, your back against a wall and your pants still down. You hear him pant as he stands up.

            “That was a rush,” he says. You can’t see Virus’s reaction but he chuckles.

            “You took a lot of people out tonight,” he says. “I’m not surprised.”

            “I was excited,” Trip grunts and Virus laughs again. Gross. Hearing them talk like a weird couple is worse torture than anything they’ve put you through yet. You feel disgusting being privy to their private conversations. They’re just – talking. Right in front of you. Like you’re not there.

            “Hey, assholes,” you grunt. “Who’s next?”

            “Ah,” Virus sighs. “I’m too tired for much more excitement tonight. Trip really needed a release, but I think I’ll pass.”

            “Fine,” you say. “Why don’t you untie me then?”

            You hear the heels of Virus’s shoes coming toward you; they have a distinct, high-pitched clicking sound and then you feel a gust of wind as he kneels down in front of you.

            “We could leave you like this, you know,” he says. You think he’s tracing his finger down your neck. “Tied up and blindfolded, your pants around your ankles. Come dripping out of you. Everyone would know what happened.”

            He’s trying to threaten you? Does he really think anyone would see you and think you _wanted_ to end up like this?

            “Yeah right,” you gasp. “No one would think this happened willingly.”

            “But it did,” he says quickly. “Maybe they wouldn’t know, but you would. That’s what would kill you.”

            He’s right. That does kill you. You _absolutely_ wanted this.

            “I don’t think you’d really do it,” you say, calling his bluff. “I… _trust_. That you wouldn’t.”

            There’s a pause, but you can fucking see the grin on Virus’s face, that shit-eating asshole smile, like everything is normal and this is an everyday sort of interaction. You bite the corner of your bottom lip. It’s bleeding.

            “I’m glad you think so highly of us,” Virus says, ripping the tie off your head and tossing it to Trip immediately. You blink several times, your cheeks puffing up as you try to adjust. There’s gunk in them but you can’t rub it out yet. “We trust you too, Noiz-san.”

            Your throat closes up at those words and you suddenly realize your back is against a dumpster. That’s how the people walking by didn’t see you. Trip fucked you behind a dumpster. Just like Koujaku.

            Virus’s chest rubs into your face as he reaches behind and unties your hands, struggling a bit at first and reprimanding Trip for tying it so tightly. Trip laughs. Your first instinct is to push Virus off of you, but you’re honestly a little scared to retaliate at this point, so you just stay put.

            “We think you’re very interesting, Noiz-san,” Virus says, standing up and suddenly pointing the toe of his shoe against your dick, just like he did last time. You blow air out your nose and ball your hands into fists against the ground. “I notice you aren’t hard. Why is that?”

            “Probably because that wasn’t exactly the most satisfying fuck of my life.”

            “You’re _never_ hard,” Virus says, pressing his shoe against your dick and it starts to spring to life a bit as you seethe on the ground below him. “Until…”

            You stare up at him.

            “Until what?”

            The two of you lock eyes for just a moment, and as fucking usual, you can’t read anything from his. Then he pulls his foot away and he turns, starts to exit the alleyway, Trip trailing behind him.

            “Never mind,” he calls. “If you need us… you obviously know where to find us.”

            They’re gone. You lean your head against the dumpster for a few minutes, your head completely empty, before you hear more voices approaching and wrangle your pants up. You wait for them to pass and then you stand up slowly and fix your hat, your shirt, wipe the blood off your lip and start to trudge home. You only pass a few Bug Bomb members on the way and they’ve never really cared about Ruff Rabbit so they leave you alone. It seems they can sense you’re not really a threat right now anyway.

            When you finally get home, you fall into your bed with your clothes on, still dirty and torn and you feel like you should be a lot more anxious, driven mad by your overactive imagination, but you realize that’s exactly why you go to Virus and Trip. They calm you down. They make you feel right. Everything feels like it’s in its place when you’re with them; like the universe is aligned. That’s what was so confusing before. Mizuki was treating you kindly. That wasn’t right. Everything is back to making sense now, and that’s calmed you.

            Of course, you dream of Mizuki. You dream, quite literally, just _of_ Mizuki – he doesn’t know you’re there. You’re watching him as he takes out the trash at Black Needle. In slow motion. Also, he has orange hair. And Koujaku is eating from a dog bowl on the floor. When you wake up you realize it’s all a metaphor. At first, the Koujaku thing is hilarious. Then you realize that you must be the trash and it’s not quite as funny anymore.

            You sit on the edge of your bed and hold your head in your hands. You’re so confused. Virus and Trip make you feel right. But Mizuki made you feel _good_. He made you scared, confused, overworked, anxious, and self-conscious. But _good._ He made you feel better than you’d ever felt in your entire life.

            Then you remember – it doesn’t matter anyway. And in a way, that’s sort of relieving. He doesn’t want to see you again and even though remembering last night makes your heart race – makes you slide off your bed and onto your knees, crawling over to your Coil on the dresser – you at least can know that it’s over. That train wreck of a relationship is over, and you have no one to blame but yourself. That’s fine. You’re good at that. You weren’t good at being Mizuki’s friend, but you’re good at fucking things up, so you suppose things are back to normal.

            You grab your Coil and find out that Mizuki has called you three times.

            Your head is in knots. He didn’t leave any messages and you can’t bring yourself to call him back. Instead, you lay on your couch all day, listless, like a zombie. You’re not hungry, you’re not thirsty, you can’t shower, and you can hardly bring yourself to use the bathroom. You can only stare off and think about Mizuki. You wonder what he’s doing. You wonder what he wanted. It’s confusing that he called, but you realize that he probably was just going to let you know not to come back to Black Needle ever. That’s fine. You didn’t need him to tell you that.

            You somehow manage to spend the entire day on your couch and you only leave it to flop onto the floor and fall asleep there at nine P.M., still in the clothes that Trip fucked you in behind the dumpster. And it’s the next morning that you’re awoken by your Coil. You look up groggily and you pick up before you realize what’s going on.

            Mizuki’s face shows up and at first he looks bored, but when he sees you, his eyes widen and his eyebrows rise.

            “Hey!” he shouts. “You picked up finally.”

            Fuck. Yeah. Of course this would happen. You’re not surprised. How does he expect you to answer? You can only stare at him. He sighs.

            “Hey, do you want to talk? About the other night?”

            Talk? He wants to talk? He wants to talk to you about the other night? Is he just going to tell you to fuck off? Because you were already doing that.

            “I don’t – have anything to say…” you trail off. Your voice is croaky and low. You meant to say, _“for myself,”_ but your mouth is too dry to speak.

            “Well, I do,” he says earnestly. “Do you want to come over?”

            Come over? To his _place?_ Where it _happened?_

            “You want me to come over?” you ask. “Really? Even after – ?”

            Mizuki sighs.

            “Noiz, you did something bad but you didn’t… kill my cats, or anything.”

            Your heart flutters. What? _What?_

            “But I – ”

            “No, wait, just come over,” he interrupts. “You’re not forgiven. That was fucked up. But just – come over.”

            You feel like an idiot for changing your clothes and checking yourself in the mirror before leaving – Mizuki certainly doesn’t care what the hell you look like now, but you do want to make sure you’re not revolting after a day and a half on the couch, staring at the floor. You never knew you could feel this relieved and this anxious at the same time, and you’re glad you have the walk to Mizuki’s to get your anxiety out, but you’re terrified about what he’s going to say. You figure if he just wanted you to leave him alone he would have said it over the Coil – or maybe send someone else to let you know for him. But he wants you to come over. That must mean something.

            Your stomach is in knots when you knock on his door and when he answers, he’s smiling – sadly, maybe, but it’s a smile. He’s so beautiful and you never wanted to use that word but he is, he’s gorgeous and you’re attracted to him – sexually, of course, but you’re also absolutely certain that he’s not of this earth. He’s just like Virus and Trip only where they’re demons, he’s an angel. You smile back awkwardly as he steps outside and closes the door behind him.

            “Maybe we should talk outside,” he says.

            “Oh?” You don’t know why, but you don’t mind. “That’s fine.”

            “It feels weird to sit on the couch with you right now.”

            That’s shitty to hear. But you understand. You nod and follow suit as he sits down on the step outside his door. You’re not any further away from him here than you usually are on his couch and it almost hurts. He takes a deep breath and puts his hands on his knees, looking up at the sky and closing his eyes. Then he turns his head toward you and sighs.

            “Look,” he says, “what happened the other night was not cool. I said I didn’t want to do anything more, and instead of hearing that and backing off, you insisted we keep going. That’s not cool.”

            You nod. He’s absolutely right.

            “But I understand that maybe you just – you were confused,” he shrugs. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t make me uncomfortable. That doesn’t excuse you. But I guess I just – I wanted to know… what you meant.”

            You think he’s going to keep talking but he doesn’t so you peek up at him with one eye.

            “What I meant – ?”

            “Never mind,” he mutters. “Let’s just focus on us,” he says and referring to the two of you as ‘us’ makes your eyes sting so hard that you forget about his previous statement. “Just because I want to have sex, doesn’t mean I _want_ to have sex. Do you know what I mean?”

            You nod. You can’t believe you do, but you do. Before you met Mizuki, you probably wouldn’t have ever thought of it that way, but now you understand because you just want to give Mizuki everything, and if Mizuki wants to have a boner and not do anything about it, you want to be the one to not do anything about it with him. You can’t tell him that, of course, so you just stay quiet.

            “I get that it might be a little weird because if you’re used to… what did you say? _Taking care of it_? Then maybe you don’t realize that someone else doesn’t want to. But that’s really not cool. If we’re going to keep hanging out, I have to know you’re not going to do that.”

            “We’re going to keep hanging out?” you ask before you can stop yourself. He laughs lightly.

            “Well, yeah,” he says. “Not that it’s not serious! I’m serious, Noiz. But I mean… when you realized I honestly didn’t want to do anything, you did stop. But you have to hear me the first time, you know? So… I mean… as long as you can keep your hands to yourself.”

            “Yes,” you reply quickly.

            “Plus I was drunk,” he says.

            “You admit it,” you mutter with a smile, and you’re sure that’s too far but he actually smiles a little back.

            “Okay, I wasn’t _drunk_ ,” he rolls his eyes. “But we both knew that I’d had a few drinks. That’s really not cool, either. To take advantage of a drunk person.”

            “I never meant to take advantage of you,” you say, your heart racing. “I mean, I’m not making excuses, but – ”

            He shakes his head.

            “I know,” he tells you. “I’m just pointing it out.” He turns his head away and smiles to himself a bit more and then turns back to you. “And yes, to be fair, we _were_ making out. Which – was different for us. So… maybe you were confused about what our relationship was. And where it was heading.”

            “Mizuki,” you say before you can stop yourself. “I am – _really_ sorry.”

            He finally smiles wide, the kind of smile that you’re used to getting from him and it fills your heart with – something. Joy, maybe.

            “It’s okay,” he nods. “I believe you know what you did and it won’t happen again.”

            This is so foreign to you. Mizuki is sitting with you, letting you talk to him about your relationship with him. He’s letting you define it. He’s telling you how he defines it. He’s being so honest and open. You’ve never had this before in your life. You decide to be brave.

            “So where – _is_ our relationship heading?” you ask. If the smirk on his face means anything, it must be something good.

            “I like hanging out with you,” he says simply. “Can it just be that for right now?”

            You make eye contact for a moment before he turns away. He’s embarrassed. It’s really cute. But you feel a little confused, still.

            “But you _were_ kissing me back,” you say. “You were okay with the kissing.”

            “I was,” he says, putting his face in his hands, muffling his voice. “I was definitely okay with that.” You grin like an idiot. So does he.

            “So… it can’t really _just_ be hanging out,” you say, “because I know you want to kiss me.”

            He pulls his face up and stares at you, clasping his hands together and resting his head against them.

            “That’s fair,” he says, and you can tell that he’s trying to keep himself from grinning. “But I also know _you_ want to kiss _me_. Don’t forget who initiated it.”

            “Yeah, but you’ve always known I’ve wanted to kiss you.”

            He looks taken aback. Oh. Maybe he really hasn’t.

            “I didn’t know that,” he says. “I knew that you always thought you owed me sex. I didn’t know you actually wanted to be with me outside of that.”

            Oh. _Oh._ You suppose you’ve shown your cards now. That’s not surprising because you’ve never done this before but you’re not even sure that you care. You like being all out with Mizuki. You’ve never been this transparent with anyone else before. It’s still stressful, but it makes you feel – good.

            “I mean – I feel so shitty for what I did,” you admit. “I’d still feel like I owe you for that if – that wasn’t exactly why you were upset.”

            He takes an angry breath and sticks his feet out sharply in front of him. You said something wrong.

            “I don’t get it,” he says. “I don’t get why you feel like you owe me for anything. I don’t get why you think sex of all things is what you should use to repay debts, anyway. Why do you feel that way?”

            You shrug.

            “Because it was good enough for everyone else,” you tell him. He turns back to you and shakes his head.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Whenever I offered sex to everyone else. They accepted. It was what everyone else wanted.”

            He purses his lips together tightly and his pupils dance and it looks like he’s almost trying to hold back tears. Is Mizuki crying over you?

            “Is that who you were talking about?”

            You cock your head to the side.

            “I – when? What?”

            “You said something,” he says slowly, looking you straight in the eye. It’s intense. “Before you left, you said something. It was alarming.”

            You crease your brows at him.

            “I did?” You honestly don’t remember.

            “It was like, half a sentence. You didn’t finish the thought. And that’s why I’m worried.”

            You rack your brain for whatever he could be talking about, but so much happened that night and so much happened since and you tried to forget so much already that you really can’t remember.

            “I’m sorry…,” you start, but he interrupts you.

            “You said, ‘ _No one’s ever stopped when I—‘_ and then you stopped.”

            The girl. The businessman. Virus. Trip. Almost everyone, really. They all come crashing back to you and your heart starts racing. Your heart has been doing that a lot lately and you don’t like it.

            “Just people,” you shrug. You’re going to leave it at that, but then you can see that his eyes are watering and that almost makes your eyes water and you can’t lie to him anymore. You’ve never told anyone this before. You take a deep breath, but then it all spills out:

            “People that I wish I had said no to. But I feel like they should have known. I was too young. So was she, but… the first night I was here on this island, I slept with this girl. All I wanted was to talk to her but she wanted to have sex so I did it because I thought – if I wanted her to connect with me then I should do – what she wanted in return. I didn’t really mind because I thought – I don’t know what I thought, I just thought maybe she wouldn’t be like my – like everyone I knew before I came here. But she didn’t want me around, either.”

            Mizuki’s nostrils flare and you think he’s fighting back tears as he nods slowly. He doesn’t open his mouth to speak. He lets you continue. You have to look away.

            “Then there was this older guy when I was seventeen,” you choke out. “He just wanted to fuck a young guy while he was away from his family. I knew what it was about but somehow I felt better – whatever,” you shake your head. You don’t need to get into details. He was the same as Virus and Trip. It validated you. He didn’t know you were getting anything out of it, but being the toy on the side made you feel dirty and gross and you liked that at the time.

            You shrug and finally look up at Mizuki. He’s not crying but he’s staring at you so intensely, with so much determination that you almost recoil. Then he says it:

            “You don’t deserve that.”

            Fuck. _Fuck._ Your throat closes up. You try to swallow but it gets stuck. You want to hear it again. You want him to say it over and over again but it takes you a few seconds to pry apart your lips and let your voice out.

            “Deserve what?” you ask feebly. His stare is unwavering.

            “To be _used_ like that.”

            You want to tell him that he’s wrong. But you can’t. Mizuki is the smartest person that you’ve ever known.

            What if he’s right?

            “I’m not going to make you talk about anything,” he says quietly. “But if you need to, you know that you can talk to me, right?”

            You nod shakily and then he leans in and wraps his arms around you. It’s just a hug. You lift your arms up and hook them on his shoulders, resting your chin in the crook of his neck. He smells like shampoo. You wish you could actually feel his embrace. Then you remember something.

            “I haven’t showered in two days.”

            He takes in a deep breath and ignores your comment completely.

            “I don’t know what we are,” he says finally. “I guess we’ll figure it out together, if that’s okay.”

            You nod into him. Everything is okay. If Mizuki is there, it’s all okay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [(looks at the camera like i'm on the office)](http://media.fooducate.com/blog/posts/Cheese-is-yellow.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> (get it. because that ending was cheesy)
> 
>  **also!** i'm going to be taking a very small break from this fic so that i can finish my noijaku one, but it shouldn't be more than a week or two. i hope you guys stay interested in that timeframe and hopefully i'll have a new chapter up before u know it


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> every day you wake up and it's Mizuki, every night you go to sleep and it's Mizuki, everything is Mizuki and you're like a schoolgirl with a crush but it feels so fucking right and perfect and dangerous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes at the beginning this time so you know this going in:
> 
> 1\. i wrote the first half of this on a train on my iPad with a bluetooth keyboard at like 6pt font so the attendant would stop trying to read over my shoulder (like come on dude) so i spent a long time proofreading but it was so fucky there's a really good chance there's still some errors  
> 2\. the format is also really fucky because of typing it up on my iPad but i THINK i fixed it all??  
> 3\. so if there are any like GLARING ERRORS please feel free to let me know  
> 4\. otherwise, this chapter was really random, i just started typing and everything went from there, so it's a lil silly and probably a bit unrealistic but i had a good time, i hope it's kinda fun and not completely absurd

            You’ve never been great with clubs — they’re too much stimulation and you don’t care for drinking or dancing — but if Mizuki is going, you’re right behind him. Complaining, of course, but right behind him. You’re aware that you should be dressing a certain way, playing a certain part for the club scene, but you can’t bring yourself to do that and if Koujaku is going to wear the same damn kimono with jeans and Mizuki is going to put his leather-studded jacket over every shirt he wears anyway, then why do you have to wear anything other than a black t-shirt and jeans?

            Mizuki always hands you a drink and winks at you and you always take it with a smile; then Mizuki stops handing you drinks and then you stop drinking. Dry Juice seems too intimidated to talk to you. Koujaku doesn’t care enough to force you into it and Beni Shigure follows his lead. It sort of bothers you. Not because you’re so adamant that Koujaku pay attention to you, but because you know why he doesn’t.

            It’s a Saturday night, early, around ten still, that you slide into a booth next to the navy-haired man and accidentally step on his kimono. You mutter under your breath and pull it out from under your foot. He rolls his eyes at you and heaves a great, dramatic sigh. Please. It’s not _that_ bad.

            "Can we talk?" you ask. You’d rather jump right into it than beat around the bush. He’s nursing a drink that you can’t place, even by smell, when he frowns at you.

            "Why would we need to talk?"

            You cock your head to the side. Before, your relationship with Koujaku used to be filled with tension; charged by anger and some misplaced sense of competition on his part and, you admit, a childish delight in his absolute zero tolerance for you on yours. It was annoying, to be sure, but you got sort of attached to it. He did get a lot more civil over time, but it was always a risk to fuck with him and you liked that. Sometimes he’d roll his eyes and murmur some awful comeback under his breath; other times he’d throw a punch or start screaming at the top of his lungs.

            Now he just ignores you. You understand why. You still despise him in so many ways, but you understand how you crossed the line this time. It’s not that you care if he hates you forever, but it’s getting a little boring.

            "I know what I did," you shout over the music and the crowd, leaning in and trying to speak obnoxiously close to his ear. "And I have to tell you something."

            "What are you talking about?" he shouts back.

            "I know why you’re mad at me. I mean — I don’t just know. I understand why you’re mad. I get why you’re ignoring me."

            "I’ve always ignored you," he shrugs, taking a sip of his drink.

            He hasn’t looked your direction once.

            "But not like this," you shout, scooting toward him more so you don’t have to lean as far. He scoots further away, too. You sigh.

            “Will you hear me out?”

            "I’m right here," he says. "Say what you have to say. Then I have to go."

            "I wanted to tell you that I’m fucking sorry," you tell him. He turns sharply to you, completely bewildered.

            "For _what_?"

            "For bringing the yakuza to your place," you say. "And for — for putting Mizuki in danger."

            He looks away and chews the inside of his bottom lip. He has one leg crossed over the other and one arm stuck inside his kimono as usual. He holds his drink so daintily that you almost laugh every time you see it and can’t believe how feminine he looks right now. Koujaku is really kind of massive, almost as muscular and hulking as Trip; seeing him sitting so quaintly is hilarious. You remember that you’ve actually slept with him, held in his enormous arms. That makes you smirk.

            "Look," he says, scowling as he keeps his eyes glued to the wall across from him and not on you. "I knew Mizuki wasn’t really in danger."

            "What do you mean?"

            "I knew they weren’t going to do anything to him," he says. "But you weren’t actually there when — "

            He stops. And you don’t need him to keep going. You know exactly what he’s talking about. You nod.

            "I know.”

            "You weren’t the one that got — all the — messages and calls and — fuck," he says quietly. You don’t think he’s close to tears, but he definitely is trying to collect himself. You imagine if you had gone through something that traumatic with Mizuki, it would be unbearable trying to relive it.

            "You don’t have to — "

            "He was fucked up," Koujaku tells you suddenly. "He was absolutely unlike himself. Do you know what it’s like when someone is _so_ good, _so_ kind, that you can tell immediately when something’s wrong?"

            You don’t answer but you have a feeling you do know that now.

            "Do you know what it’s like to be so close to someone that you can tell over a voicemail that something is wrong?"

            "No," you tell him honestly. He doesn’t seem touched by your response at all. He might not have even heard you.

            "He can’t remember anything," he continues. "But I promise you, if he did… whoever did that to him wouldn’t be alive right now."

            "No," you agree. "They wouldn’t."

            "Hearing someone with that much power like Trip say that — just took me back to that — I can’t do that again," he barrels through you. "I can’t ever hear someone say that about Mizuki again. I knew he wasn’t serious. Fucking with Rib teams for no reason would give the yakuza way more trouble than it would be worth. But — it doesn’t matter. Mizuki is all I have left."

            "All you have left?" you ask before you realize what he means. "Oh. Right. Yeah." You’d say Aoba’s name to try to dig at Koujaku a little bit, but you’re trying to apologize right now so you guess you shouldn’t. You don’t really get that much pleasure in making Koujaku miserable on purpose, anyway. You mostly like it when he does that to himself.

            "I told you not to fuck with him," he says through suddenly gritted teeth. You allow him to be angry. "I don’t understand. You hang out with him all the time. I don’t understand what you’re doing."

            You don’t know how to answer that. You don’t know how to say, _“I want to be with him, all the time, I want to know how he wakes up and how he goes to sleep and what he does in between and I want to be the one for him to do every single one of those things with, I’m just too stupid to know how to keep him safe, mostly from myself.”_ You’re not sure there’s a cliché for that so you just shrug and stare at him. You’re not sure it’s exactly his business, either. You consider telling him to fuck off but then you remember this is your _apology_. Plus, if you want to be close to Mizuki, you should probably try to be just a _bit_ nicer to his friends.

            "I’m trying…" you trail off as you consider your words carefully, "to… be his friend."

            "You’re not doing a very good job."

            "I know," you mutter. "I fucking know that. I’m trying."

            Koujaku turns to you then and looks you in the eye. You hold his gaze and he’s not angry or confrontational; he’s not really much of anything. He’s trying to figure you out. He’s sort of soft and curious and you’re surprised at how much you like seeing a genuine look on his face that isn’t anger.

            "Okay," he says quietly. "Okay. I believe you."

            "I didn’t ask you to believe me," you tell him. "I don’t care."

            "Shit," he mutters. "I don’t know what you did to trick him into thinking you were cool, but he likes you too. He’s been my friend for years though, and if you do _one_ more stupid thing, I will kick your ass so fast. You don’t want him in danger, do you?"

            "No," you say quickly, before you can stop yourself. You don’t care about Koujaku. But you care about Mizuki.

            "Okay," he nods. "Lesson one in having a friend? Thinking about them instead of yourself. Putting someone else ahead of you for a change. Do you think you can do that?"

            "This is so stupid," you mutter as you stand up and leave. Koujaku laughs behind you and you spend the rest of the night watching Mizuki dance terribly. He pulls you onto the floor but you leave immediately and he eyes you the whole time, you swear, seductively. You smirk at him from the bar the whole time and when Koujaku cuts in and notices your gaze, he gags as loudly as he can and goes home early. Two days later he tells you that he doesn’t understand what Mizuki sees in you and you laugh. Then he says he doesn’t even understand what your relationship with Mizuki is and you stop laughing. You still don’t, either.

            He still hardly touches you. He’s flirty, but still not touchy. He’ll put his arm around you or high-five you — all those things that _friends_ do, but ever since you kissed him, as terrible as that ended up being, you’ve been craving that again. It’s utterly baffling to you, why he flirts with you — makes suggestive comments, stares at you under heavy eyelids, lingers just a little too long when he embraces you — but won’t _really_ touch you. It’s frustrating. You’re not angry, you’re just confused. And too afraid to ask.

            And worst of all, Mizuki has nothing to do with Virus and Trip, who you still take home when you run into them. They still give you that validation you seek and now they satisfy that craving for human touch that you’ve never wanted for before. It’s not exactly the touch you’d prefer, but it suffices. Of course, you’ve _wanted_ to be touched before – well, as touched as you can be, seeing as how hardly you can feel it – but that was only because it was a physical need. Now you want to be touched because you _think_ about it. It’s always Mizuki in your fantasies of course, but sometimes you can close your eyes and for just a few seconds Trip is quiet enough to allow you to pretend that he’s the most feared Rib leader on the island instead of the most ridiculously dressed yakuza.

            You’re not sure what it is that still gets to you — then again, you’ve never quite been sure what it is that gets to you. It’s your father, it’s your mother — it’s your broken body, it’s your inability to call your brother. It’s everyone who’s ever called you worthless or an embarrassment or a slut, but mostly it’s just _you. You’re_ the reason you hate yourself, obviously. If _you_ weren’t a worthless, embarrassing slut then you would probably be able to handle this all a lot better. As it is, however, you _are_ a shameful little human being, and that might be why Mizuki doesn’t want to touch you. But it’s nothing new. It’s always been like this. When you’re being particularly fanciful, you think maybe it won’t be, but Virus and Trip always bring you back to reality.

            In the end, it doesn’t matter how nice Mizuki is to you. You always end up back with Virus and Trip.

            "Is that too much, Noiz-san?" Virus calls from behind you during a particularly intense encounter. You’re on your bed on your hands and knees, Trip’s tie tied behind your head again but this time around your mouth. He knows you can’t answer. You suppose that’s the point. All you do is moan gutturally as Trip works a vibrator in and out of you and you dig your face further into the bed. It’s almost excruciating, but they promised to let you come. For some reason you believe them, and try to follow their every order, hoping it’ll speed up the process.

            "You look good," Trip coos. A rare moment of appreciation from Trip makes your dick twitch. You’re so hard right now, harder than usual. It’s probably the vibrations in your ass. You can feel it so much better than Trip’s clumsy cock ramming in and out of you. It makes sense that they’d bring it, too, since the last time you saw them, Virus worked out that you had a failing sense of touch. You didn’t want to tell them, but he had your wrists tied to the bed, teasing your prostate with his fingertip as he pulled the admission out of you, Your legs had been spread, in the air, your feet waving about as you pleaded with him to just hit you where you needed it; he brought himself inches from your face and asked if you needed it hard. You’d paused, said yes, and he’d asked why. You’d told him because you like it that way and he’d asked why, again. He stared at you, unflinching, smiling as he whispered, _"Is it because you can’t feel it at all otherwise?"_ and you had nodded, tears in your eyes. He let you come ten minutes later, and you hope the same is true for tonight.

            You suddenly feel another vibrator — another larger, chunkier vibrator, pushed up against your dick and it rips a shout from the back of your throat, your eyes springing open and your fingers grappling at the air behind your back. They’re bound, of course, because Trip like to do that. Virus never seems to enjoy trying to restrain you and frankly, you don’t mind when he takes control of the situations for that reason. Unfortunately, he let Trip tie you today, so you’re stuck, flailing as he runs the vibrator head along your piercings. One of them catches and it pulls, a sharp stinging running down your crotch, something you rarely feel. You cry out again and Virus breathes, “ _Oops. My apologies. So clumsy.”_

            You push back on Trip’s vibrator, desperately trying to fill yourself with it more, hoping that if you can engulf the slender, silver piece of metal that maybe you could come quicker, come before they can tell you’re about to. Before they can stop you. They’ve never done that before, you realize. They’ve tortured you, played it out as long as they could, until you had tears in your eyes. But they never stopped you once you were close. You guess they’re just not into that. Maybe it’s because they get bored easily. They just want it to be over. You wouldn’t doubt it.

            "Needy," Trip grunts in amusement. He screws the vibrator especially hard and you can’t believe how badly you want to come. You so rarely feel this. You bite the sheets below you and do your best to moan, " _Please_ ," and you think you get your point across.

            "Are you close, Noiz-san?"

            "Mmm," you moan, nodding your head slowly against your blanket. You’re drooling around it. Virus chuckles.

            "I’m so glad we could make you feel something tonight, Noiz-san," Virus tells you. He pulls the vibrator on your dick up sharply and you moan again. "It must be so rare to feel anything. I’m grateful that it’s us you chose to let you."

            You groan through the sheets and the tie, miserable at the prospect that it’s these two creeps who are touching you when it could be — no, it couldn’t be anyone else. It had to be them, of course. They’re the only ones who want to touch you. They’re the only ones who make you feel anything because they’re the only ones who want to touch you in the first place.

            It’s not Mizuki’s fault but it is him that you think of when you finally orgasm. You’re embarrassed at how hard you come; your legs open and you spread them behind you, wrapping them around Trip’s knees as he kneels behind you, still working on the vibrator. You try to pull him toward you as you thrust backwards, trying to take in as much of the vibrator as possible, though you’re aware it’s in as far as it can go. It’s pulsating against your prostate, Trip’s own digits fingering the edge of your opening. He’s so far in he’s about to enter you himself and you clasp your hands together as you shout louder than you have in a long, _long_ time while coming. It’s muffled by the tie, but it’s loud and high-pitched and needy and you can hear it wind down when you finish, but Mizuki never leaves your mind. What if it was Mizuki behind you, what if it was Mizuki next to you, what if Mizuki was here at all? What if Mizuki would touch you? What if it was Mizuki who saw you in the alleyway an hour ago and smiled and shook his head and told you he had a new toy? What if it was Mizuki who walked you home? What if Mizuki wanted to do more with you than dinner and a movie at his house, or drinks at Black Needle, or clubbing in the East District?

            But it’s not Mizuki. It’s Trip. And it’s Virus. And that’s not his fault. It’s yours.

* * *

 

            “Noiz,” Mizuki calls from across the bar the next day. Your eyes drift from your drink to his face. You’re at the point now where sometimes you hardly remember you were with Virus and Trip the day before. It’s become rote.

            “Yeah?” you call as he approaches you from the other side of the bar. He has a towel over his shoulder and you’ve always thought that was so fucking cute, when Mizuki plays the role of barkeeper.

            “Have you ever drag raced before?”

            You raise your eyebrows.

            “Drag race?” you ask. “Like what guys with tiny dicks do to make themselves feel better?”

            “Exactly,” he nods with a laugh. “You ever done that?”

            “No,” you chuckle. “I don’t need to feel better about myself. You know what I mean?”

            He quirks an eyebrow and smirks.

            “Oh, I get it,” he says. “But what I want to know is… would you _like_ to drag race?”

            “You want me to get behind the wheel of a car -- ?”

            “No,” he interrupts you quickly. “I’m behind the wheel. Koujaku’s behind the other. But we always take a passenger. It’s a thing,” he shrugs.

            “A thing?”

            He rolls his eyes in what you swear is embarrassment and leans forward on the bar, close enough to you that you can smell him. He’s musty and damp, which makes sense because it’s been raining all day and this place is packed right now.

            “Usually it’s a girl,” he says finally, “if you know what I mean. But I’ve taken dudes before. Do you want to be my passenger?”

            Do you want to be his _passenger_? That’s something you’ve never heard in any of those romantic movies. You always thought your first serious romance would be just like those, but you suddenly wonder now why you ever thought that. As if anything in your life could be normal. Then you realize you just referred to Mizuki as a romance and you’re so glad he can’t hear your thoughts.

            Still, he wants to take you on a drag race. Even if it’s not romantic, it sounds dirty and dangerous and you might get hurt. You grin.

            “Do I want to drag race against Koujaku?” you ask. “Of course.”

            That’s how you end up in the passenger seat of an outlandish car that Mizuki for some reason seems to have a serious connection with. It’s not his car, but apparently it’s what he drives in these occasions – these drag race occasions – and usually the races mean a lot more, but tonight it’s just Koujaku who waves at you from the other car, a blonde girl sitting beside him.

            “Am I in a fucking movie?” you deride Mizuki, who has one hand on the wheel and the other on the clutch and at first you’re almost embarrassed to be with him, but then you realize how good he looks behind the wheel of a car and when he smiles at you, you swear it’s only for you. No one else is here to see him. That smile is yours. He’s only grinning at you.

            “It was Bug Bomb,” he says and leaves it at that.

            “What was Bug Bomb?”

            “Bug Bomb was the first to genuinely issue a drag race challenge,” he answers. “To Dry Juice. At first I refused because it sounded stupid. But they wouldn’t let it go so I did it. And it was fucking fun. And I won. So now Koujaku and I sort of have a thing about it.”

            “Between Dry Juice and Beni Shigure?”

            Mizuki shrugs.

            “It’s just a thing,” he repeats and you shake your head with a smile. Koujaku honks his horn and when you both look over, his blonde car mate leans into him and kisses him, her fingers tanging in his hair and Koujaku leans back against the seat as she presses him backwards. Her face mashes into his.

            “Gross,” you mutter. She pulls away and Koujaku looks over to you and raises an eyebrow. It’s a dare. He’s daring you to kiss – or, more likely, he’s daring Mizuki to kiss you.

            You know you can’t initiate anything, not after the last time you touched him, and you don’t want to risk looking over at him and seeing a nervous face that doesn’t want to kiss you at all, so you stick up your middle finger at him instead, your gaze never wavering from his. He throws his head back and laughs. You can hear it – Koujaku is fucking annoying but his laugh is infectious and you sort of smile back.

            “Give me your hand,” Mizuki says suddenly and you look over at him to find his gloved hand extended over the shift. You put your palm in his and he clasps his fingers around yours. “Usually we kiss the person we’re with,” he explains, “but this is just as good.”

            You didn’t think you’d like hearing that as much as you do. Your hand is just as good as your lips to Mizuki and your heart skips a beat.

            “Don’t you need your hand to drive?” you ask.

            “Yep,” Mizuki says as he grinds the gas pedal down and takes his hand back.

            Neither of you are buckled up when he takes off about a minute later, and the metaphor is not lost on you. You weren’t ready for Mizuki either; you weren’t strapped in or safe or prepared for anything that came along with Mizuki or this car crash of a relationship. Koujaku runs his car to the side, dangerously close to you, so close you could spit on him if the windows were down, and your adrenaline skyrockets and that’s it: that’s how you’ve felt since the day you met Mizuki. Like your heart hasn’t stopped racing. And like you want to spit on Koujaku constantly.

            You definitely want to spit on him a few minutes later when he’s not only gloating about his win but also has his hands all over Mizuki and you’re seething with an envy you didn’t expect. Of course Koujaku gets to hug Mizuki and run his hands along his chest like that, they’re best friends. They’re laughing and throwing soft punches and gripping each other tight and you’ve never done that with anyone, much less Mizuki. Koujaku has never sexually assaulted Mizuki. Koujaku has never broken his trust. You thrust your hands in your pockets and roll your eyes over to the girl Koujaku’s with. She’s on her Coil but turns her attention to you when she notices you looking.

            “That was fun,” she smiles with a shrug and she’s so genuine and indifferent, which surprises you, though you’re not sure why.

            “It was fine,” you answer.

            “Sore loser?” she asks.

            You smile. You were a little pissed at first, but when you think about the word ‘ _loser_ ,’ you realize you held Mizuki’s hand inside his car. Just like all the movies you’ve seen. You’re don’t think that constitutes a loss.

            “Not exactly,” you answer. She grins back at you over her shoulder as she prances up to Koujaku and drapes herself over him, planting kisses on the side of his face and pulling him away from the group that surrounds him and Mizuki. You stand around, kicking at the dirt for a minute or two, until Mizuki finally approaches you with a sad grin.

            “I lost,” he says, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m so embarrassed. Do you think I’m super lame now?”

            “Yeah,” you nod. “But… you were pretty lame beforehand, too. So it’s not that big a deal.”

            “Glad to hear it,” Mizuki grins and then he throws his arm around you and starts to guide you away. “Let’s get out of here before anyone talks to us.”

            He takes you home and makes you noodles and it’s like every other night and you wish desperately that something would change, that maybe he’d kiss you or ask you to spend the night and cuddle into you on accident and then wake up embarrassed the next morning, but you’re also incredibly grateful that you have this with him at all.

            This is what it’s like with Mizuki. He introduces you to new things – drag races, drinking until four in the morning, taking care of someone with a hangover. You don’t have anything to offer him back, but sometimes he picks up the car from the drag race and drives around with you and neither of you ever say anything. You put on the radio and drive out to a field about thirty minutes toward the shore and then he puts down a blanket and you lay next to him. You don’t touch. You never touch. But you’re next to him and the sky is darker away from the city lights and you can see the stars and this is it. This is the cliché you’ve always wanted.

            Mizuki was kind to you to begin with, but he also forgave you. You’ve never felt that before and that’s comforting. You almost went into shock from it. You were so used to being labeled by your fuck-ups, but Mizuki doesn’t do that and it makes it hard to breathe when you think about it.

            And you think about it a lot, even when Virus is peering down at you from over the rim of his glasses while your lips are around his dick, or when Trip is grinning at you while he fucks you, jagged and sharp and sloppy. You think about Mizuki when Koujaku is ignoring you and you think about Mizuki when you’re balled up in the corner of your bathroom forcing yourself not to cry about your mother and father. You think about Mizuki when you’re on your hands and knees by the toilet, your forehead pressed against the marble floor, trying to convince yourself that if you’re going to call your brother, you should wait until this breakdown passes.

            You can’t get away from that. You can’t get away from the self-hatred that’s buried so deep inside of you; not even Mizuki can fix that. You forget about it more often now, and that’s thanks to the tattooed boy you met almost six months ago now, but it’s still not gone completely. It crops up when you’re alone and you don’t think it’ll ever disappear. Mizuki is the best thing that’s ever happened to you, but something tells you he’s going to go away after a while too, and then you’ll be left with yourself again. That’s why you want to milk this for everything it’s worth. That’s why you can’t do anything but think about Mizuki.

            The only time you aren’t thinking about Mizuki is when you’re with Mizuki, because when you’re with him, nothing else matters.

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the day Noiz will come to remember as the time he lived a movie and Mizuki was a dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [suggested listening for this chapter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qbp28QvMKn8)

            You can’t believe it took you so long to remember that Heibon exists, and that it wasn’t the first place you looked for the obscure RAM you needed, but you’re here now, and Aoba’s old boss is just as soft and unassuming as before – not that you ever knew him that well. It’s probably because Aoba is basically a thing of the past for you that you forgot about Heibon and you’re sort of embarrassed to be back in the exact spot that you kissed the older boy almost two years ago, but _you’re here now_ and – there are those three kids you talked to once. You remember the blush that crept onto the girl’s – Mio’s – face when you kissed her hand. What was it she called you? Sexual harassment piercings guy. Your lips curl into a slow smile.

            Mio remembers you immediately. She crosses her arms and sticks her nose up at you and it’s incredibly endearing. You promise you aren’t going to kiss her hand again before you kneel down and look her in the eye.

            “Are you guys hungry?”

            “He’ll poison it!” cries the older brother in the goggles whose name escapes you. You highly doubt you ever knew it.

            “Not if we get it at a restaurant, dummy,” you say and Mio throws a hand up in front of your face.

            “That’s not a very nice way to talk to my brother,” she tells you. You nod.

            “You’re right,” you say. “I apologize. Let me make it up to you.”

            You take them to a restaurant – the boss at Heibon, you can’t remember his name, seems to be more than relieved that you walk away with them trailing behind you – and you watch them carry on as if you’re not even there. They’re not ignoring you, they’re simply too caught up in each other to bother you.

            Mio seems to have a fairly strong hold over her older brothers, and it’s getting harder to hide your smile every time she shuts them down or they bow to her whims. She’s not domineering; she’s just the leader. She’s the youngest. She’s the only girl. And she’s the one they look to for guidance. Maybe now guidance only consists of, “Was that joke I just told funny at all?” or, “Which prank should we pull first?” But you imagine one day it might be, “Mio, what do you think of this person I want to ask to marry me?” or, “Mio, what do I do when someone’s hurt me this bad?” or, “Mio, should I break out of this room and come find you tonight? Mio, should I leave this place for good? Mio, do you want to come with me? Mio, are you ashamed of me, too?”

            Maybe that’s not the best thing to think about, and you might start to panic if you didn’t register that people are staring at you suddenly. At first you get self-conscious. Maybe you look out of place: a kid looking after other kids. Does it look like you’ve kidnapped them? Wait, did you sort of kidnap them? No, right? You just took them out for lunch. Then you realize there’s a large amount of food on the floor and the one in the mouse getup is hiding under the table.

            You decide to change your order to go, and you don’t know where to take them from there, so you sit in the gutter outside Heibon and put the flimsy foil container of pasta in your lap. The kids finally fall silent as they eat their food, but the second Mio is done, she stands up and you look up to find her peering over you.

            “Trying to intimidate me?”

            “What does that mean?” she asks, folding her arms and staring at you as if you’ve confused her on purpose.

            “Trying to scare me?”

            “Hm,” she pouts. “Why’d you buy us food? You haven’t said a thing all day! You really are a creep.”

            You smile and shrug your shoulders. You don’t really know why you bought them food. There was just something about them. You liked them all that time ago and you liked them now. And that old guy at Heibon sure seemed to appreciate it, not that you give a shit about him.

            “I’m not a creep,” you tell her. “I just thought you guys looked hungry.”

            “How do we look hungry?” asks the one in the goggles. You really need to learn their names.

            “I don’t know,” you say. “Are you complaining about free food?”

            He doesn’t answer. He cocks his head to the side in thought and then takes another bite out of his cheeseburger. You look back to Mio, who hasn’t moved an inch. She still watches you with calculating eyes and you admit you have a soft spot for her.

            “Just trying to keep you out of the shop,” you say. “To stop terrorizing that old man.”

            “Aw,” says the one in the hoodie. “He’s never any fun!”

            “Maybe that’s because you destroy his shop every time you go in there,” you say.

            “Then he should protect his weird crap better,” Mio huffs. You laugh.

            “Right,” you say. “You’re really providing him a service. Letting him know to take care of his merchandise better.”

            “Who’d even want that stuff?” the boy says. “No one cares about that stuff.”

            “I do,” you shrug. “Why do you think I was in there?”

            “What did you buy?” Mio asks. You lift your wrist and pull down your sleeve.

            “Just something for my Coil,” you tell her, even though that’s a lie. That sounds less exciting than something for your Allmate, so you hope she becomes disinterested. You’re not sure how to explain this sort of stuff to kids.

            “But _what_?”

            Mio locks her eyes with yours and you laugh out of the corner of your mouth. She’s not going to give up on trying to figure you out, even if she knows she has no idea what you’re talking about. You take a deep breath.

            “Okay, I lied. I bought more RAM for an Allmate. I’m trying to make it faster. It’s an old model and they don’t sell that kind of RAM anymore.”

            “What’s RAM?”

            “Memory.”

            “To store things?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Hm,” she raises her eyebrows and you laugh again. That was the wrong move, because she cocks her head at you and says, “And what are you laughing at?”

            “You’re very dedicated to figuring me out,” you tell her. “It’s admirable.”

            “I don’t care if you admire me,” she says, and then she finally turns away and walks back to her space between her brothers on the curb but doesn’t sit. You suddenly realize that despite her foreboding nature, her brothers still very subconsciously protect her and your heart aches for a second. “You’re a weird, sexual harassment, piercing guy who buys weird stuff. I don’t care if you like me.”

            If anyone else said that – like the dozens of people who have – you’d be hurt. But you laugh again and nod as you take another bite of your pasta.

            “Good,” you say quietly. “You don’t need to worry what other people think about you.”

            “But maybe we could look past it,” she says abruptly and you look over to her and raise your eyebrows. “Since you look so sad all the time. And you bought us food.”

            “Sad?” you ask. “I don’t look sad.” What the hell is she talking about?

            “We have to go home,” she says and she puts her hand down to the one in the goggles and indicates that he stand up. They both rise, leaving their trash behind them. You suppose that’s for you to pick up. “You look sad. Like you’re lonely. So stop being so weird and maybe you’d make some friends. But until then, you can take us to eat. See you later.”

            She turns and leads her brothers away as a laugh escapes the back of your throat. You’ve immediately made up your mind. You refuse to have kids unless you are guaranteed they will end up like Mio.

            “Bye,” you call, to no response. You stand up and start to gather their food wrappers when you realize this isn’t your responsibility. They aren’t your kids. You don’t have to clean up after them. You kick it into the gutter and walk back to your apartment with a smile on the whole time.

            That night at Black Needle, you lean over the bar on one arm and wave Mizuki over to you. He makes his way over and leans in close. He smells like cologne.

            “I have a question.”

            “Sure.”

            “Is it illegal to take kids that aren’t yours out to eat?”

            He nods his head downward slowly and raises an eyebrow.

            “What exactly are you saying to me right now?”

            “There are these three kids that used to bother Aoba at Heibon. I saw them today and took them to get lunch. Is that – wrong?”

            “Oh,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows and taking a step back. “Well – I don’t know. Maybe a little? It’s kinda nice, though. Where are their parents?”

            “I don’t know,” you shrug, sitting back in your seat. “They always bother the guy there, so I thought I’d take them away to give him some peace. I didn’t realize until we were out that it might be weird.”

            It’s only a half lie – you couldn’t care less about the guy who owns Heibon – but you honestly didn’t mean to be a creep and now you’re wondering if you were.

            “But you don’t know where the parents are?”

            “I mean – at work or at home or something, I guess,” you say. Why is he focused on that? “I just want to make sure that wasn’t weird of me.”

            “I’m sure you’re fine,” he says. “Kids run around here without their parents all the time. It’s bullshit.”

            He says the last comment with such a charged anger that it sort of pulls you out of your anxiety and you stare at him.

            “You okay?” you ask. He looks you in the eyes and at first he looks dark and electric, like he has a deadly plan and he knows he’s going to go through with it, but then, suddenly, his eyes light up and he gives you a smile.

            “Yeah,” he says. He pats you on the back, hard, and grins wider. “I got the car tonight. Wanna go?”

            “Really? You don’t have anything better to do with it?” You give him a small smile so he knows you’re joking and he nods his head to the side and rolls his eye.

            “Okay,” he says, “I admit, the girl I was going to see tonight cancelled.”

            “So I was just your second choice?” you ask, still grinning. You’re not sure why that doesn’t bother you. Maybe it’s because he spends so much time with you anyway. Maybe it’s because you know how little a good fuck can mean.

            “Shut up,” he mutters, and you could swear he’s blushing a little bit as he comes out from behind the bar and throws an arm around your shoulders. “That’s not exactly the case. Let’s go.”

            “Not exactly the case?” you repeat as he walks you toward the door. You stuff your hands in your pockets and let him guide you even if you can’t really feel his hand against your body. “It’s – you know, it’s okay if you’re fucking other people.”

            His gait slows for a second but it doesn’t stop, then it picks back up again and he opens the door for you as you step out. You didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable. You’re actually saying it more for yourself than for him – you wouldn’t mind at all if he didn’t fuck other people. You probably wouldn’t mind it if he only fucked you exclusively, but he’s never fucked you and that would come too close to a relationship, and you know you can’t put him through the horror of being your boyfriend, so you settle for making sure it’s okay that you’re fucking other people. Even if ‘other people’ is really just –

            “I know,” he says suddenly, stopping on the sidewalk and taking his arm away to turn to you. “I know that.”

            “And it’s okay if I fuck other people too, right?” you ask, finally meeting his eyes and he juts his head out a little bit.

            “Of course,” he says. “I don’t get to control what you do. We’re not committed to each other. We haven’t even done anything to commit to each other.”

            “What’s that mean?”

            “You know what I mean,” he says with a smile. He smiles when he’s embarrassed. That’s adorable.

            “You mean we haven’t fucked?”

            “I – yeah,” he rolls his eyes, still grinning. “Shut up. Come on. Let’s go.” He turns and takes another step, shrugging his shoulder for you to follow but you have to ask:

            “Do you think we’re ever going to?”

            He stops, just a couple steps ahead of you and takes a few seconds before he turns to you. People are walking around you and you know you’re inconveniencing them but you feel like he won’t answer if you don’t refuse to move. He puts a hand out to grab your wrist and pull you toward him.

            “That’s an awkward thing to ask,” he mutters. “Let’s go.”

            “It’s really cute when you’re embarrassed,” you say and he lets out an awkward laugh and tells you to shut up again so you do. Instead you focus on how close he is to you as he walks you to the car and how focused on the road he is when he drives and how warm you imagine he is when he lays down on the grass next to you as you both look up at the sky, waiting for the sun to set. You can’t feel the grass but you bet it’s soft.

            “You know how they say that looking at space is really comforting?” he asks about twenty minutes after you’ve both gotten situated on the ground. It’s the first thing either of you have said since Black Needle and it startles you a little bit but then you think about it.

            “Yeah,” you say. “How the universe is so big so your problems don’t really matter?”

            “Yeah,” he says. He sounds distant. He sounds like he hardly registers you’re there. The car doors are open and the radio is on low. You thought he was going to say more, but he never continues his thought.

            This is the sort of thing you’ve seen in movies – a lot of movies. You had nothing but time when you were a teenager in Germany and you watched every piece of shit that came out. You watched old movies about this kind of bullshit and you had to deny every time that you wanted it, but now that you’re here, lying on the grass in the dusk with someone that makes so much sense to you, you feel a little more calm in admitting that you like it. You feel so normal right now. And you never thought you’d get to have one of these moments.

            It’s hard to put into words. Maybe it’s just a different way of experiencing life that you never knew you could have. You never thought you could have it but Mizuki gave it to you and he can’t possibly know how grateful you are to him and it’s the first time you think the word _love_ and it doesn’t scare you as much as you would have thought it might. Maybe that means it’s real. You don’t really know if love is supposed to be scary or calming or something in between. You do know for sure that you like being Mizuki’s good luck charm in drag races. You like eating noodles with him in his tiny living room. You like taking naps on his couch and waking up to find out his cats have made your body a bed. You like sitting on a blanket with him because you swear you can actually feel the warmth of his body next to you. Other people have to take their nails or a blade to your skin for you to feel them, but Mizuki doesn’t even have to touch you.

            That reminds you of yourself and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of your body – you’re suddenly aware again that you simply exist and it doesn’t help that the first thing you think of is Virus and Trip and how they’re the only ones other than yourself that will actually take their nails or a knife to your skin and for some reason you find your chest heaving and you have to sit up. You let out a deep sigh and try to remember that you’re here with Mizuki and that those assholes don’t get to infringe on that time but you know that no matter what, you’re still going to see them again eventually. You already sort of want to see them again, if only because letting them get to you like this when you’re with Mizuki makes you feel shitty enough that you think you might deserve it. It has nothing to do with Mizuki; it’s all on you. It’s this sick obsession and it draws you back to them every time –

            “Are you okay?”

            Mizuki is sitting up next to you, his head a lot closer than you were expecting when you open your eyes – when did you close them? – and you start a bit. He laughs.

            “Sorry. Are you alright?”

            “I’m fine,” you say.

            “The stars should be out in twenty more minutes,” he says. “Can you wait that long?”

            “Of course,” you tell him. “We just got here.”

            “It just seems like you’re uncomfortable.”

            You look away, into the distance in front of you and can’t really answer. He sighs softly.

            “What’s wrong?” he insists. When you look back at him, his eyebrows are stitched and he’s frowning. That face means he’s not going to let it go.

            “I’m fine,” you say. “I’ve just never done this kind of thing before.”

            “What kind of thing?”

            You don’t really know how to answer that. It’s abundantly clear to _you_ how much this means to you, but you’re not sure how to tell someone else that. You’re not sure if you want him to know. Part of you can’t believe he doesn’t already know but the other part hopes to God he doesn’t. You try to find something noncommittal to respond with, but everything sounds either too rude or too dramatic. You’d lean over and kiss him right now if you could – that’s usually how you shut people up. But there’s no way you’re touching him again without his permission. There’s a song playing from the car with heavy piano and you swear they just said something about stars so you cock your head towards it.

            “Isn’t the car going to die if we leave it on?” you ask.

            “It’ll be fine. What kind of thing have you never done before?”

            You frown at him and try one more time.

            “I think this song is talking about stars. That’s ironic.”

            “It is,” he nods. “I know this song. Noiz, what kind of thing have you never done before?”

            You roll your eyes, wrap your arms around your knees and stare at the ground. He leans forward on his hand even more and stares at you, urging you with his eyes to respond. Fine, then. You will.

            “I’ve never hung out with people like this,” you say. “I’ve never gone to bars or clubs or even just your house to watch movies. I sure as Hell have never gone to a field to look at the stars at night.”

            Mizuki hardly moves. He blinks a couple of times but he doesn’t say a word so you suppose you are to continue but you don’t really have anything else to say so you shrug.

            “That’s all.”

            “Why not?”

            You hang your head between your knees in despair for a few seconds and then lift it back up.

            “Parents didn’t let me.”

            “Oh,” he says shortly. He closes his lips together tightly and looks away. He seems somewhat satisfied so you wait him out and he finally says, “I guess that makes sense. I’m sorry.”

            “Why are you sorry?”

            “That you never got to do stuff like this,” he says. It’s not, _“That your parents were assholes,”_ or, _“That I made you say it_ ,” it’s _“I’m sorry that you never got to do stuff like this, I’m sorry that you’re not normal like the rest of us, I’m sorry that this is freaking you out right now because you’re not used to it_ ,” and something about that is very comforting, like he understands you without even knowing it.

            “It’s okay,” you say quietly and pick a handful of grass. The song mentions stars again and you nod to it again. “What is this song?”

            “I don’t remember the name,” he says. You drop all but one blade of grass and start slitting it down the middle with a nail.

            “It’s about us,” you say.

            “How do you figure that?” he asks with a laugh. You smile.

            “Because it’s about the stars,” you say. “We’re looking at stars.”

            “No,” he shakes his head. “It’s about – someone _is_ a star. Like – a rock star or a movie star. Or… I guess maybe she _is_ someone’s star but… I don’t think it’s about watching the actual stars.”

            “Oh,” you say. “Well, maybe you’re a star.”

            “I doubt that,” Mizuki scoffs. “That’s a little romantic, especially for you.”

            “I can be romantic,” you tell him and when he looks up to laugh at you he’s a little bit closer than either of you had planned and instead of laughing he loses his smile completely and you stare at his lips and you’re pretty sure he’s staring at yours too and then your heart starts beating and it’s as though it’s the first time it’s ever beat before in your entire life and you might be breathing sort of heavily now and you’re nervous he can sense it but then you lean in just a fraction and you swear he doesn’t move away but you’re not going to keep going unless he goes in a bit too but he’s not moving, he’s not moving away but he’s not moving toward you either and all you want right now is to kiss him so why won’t he kiss you why won’t he fuck you he brought you here and he got this close but he doesn’t actually _want_ you and you guess that’s fine, he’s not obligated to you, no one is, no one ever has been and no one ever will be but you just wish you could make sense of it –

            And then he finally pulls his head away and looks toward the trees you were staring at just moments before, as if nothing had ever happened and you want to fucking scream. You throw the blade of grass on the ground maybe a little too angrily and he notices. He takes a deep breath.

            “I’m sorry,” he says quietly and even though you want to tell him he shouldn’t be, you don’t dare interrupt him so you keep your mouth shut. “I just – I don’t think we should do that.”

            “Why _not_?” you ask breathlessly, your shoulders drooping and your entire body feeling like it’s fallen into the crust of the earth. He looks back at you and frowns.

            “It’s not _you_ – ”

            “Bullshit,” you say. “If you don’t want me, you don’t want me. But it can’t be anything but me. It has to be me. It’s always me. It has to be me.”

            He stares at you for a few seconds, his lips split to say something but he looks more shocked than like he’s contemplating anything. Finally, he puts his lips together and tilts his head in thought before he says:

            “It’s _not_ you. You were my _first_ choice tonight.”

            You don’t understand.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I wanted to come up here with you,” he says. “When I knew I was going to have the car, two days ago, I wanted to ask you to come up here with me. But I got nervous,” he smiles. “Then a girl asked me out yesterday and I said yes because it was easier than having to get over the nerves. But then she canceled on me this morning. And I just took it as a sign.”

            That’s a story that you never thought you’d hear. Someone – _Mizuki_ – was nervous about _you._

            “You were _nervous_?” you grin. “Why were you _nervous?”_

“You know, I have no idea,” he laughs. “It just – it got to a point where I liked hanging out with you more than I realized and a part of me was nervous to fuck it up – I don’t know. It’s weird. I was insec – I was just unsure.”

            Mizuki thought _he_ would fuck it up. Mizuki thought it was possible that _he_ could ever fuck up _anything_ , especially a relationship with _you?_ That’s the dumbest shit you’ve ever heard.

            “Don’t be,” you say and you lean toward him. “Don’t be unsure. You won’t fuck it up. Sex won’t fuck it up either.”

            “Ah,” he moans uncomfortably as he pulls away again. “I just – I’m not sure.”

            Your heart starts beating fast again and you’re more confused than you are angry, but you’re definitely a little angry.

            “You’re not sure about _what_?” you ask. “You want to come hang out with me, so why don’t you want to fuck me?”

            “Why do those two things go hand in hand?” he asks, and you can sense the anger in his voice too now and it suddenly dawns on you that he might like hanging out with you but he’s not attracted to you. But you swear – he’s said he was before, hasn’t he? He was just being kind. But he’s stared at you before, at those clubs and bars, and you could have sworn he wanted you. You’re so confused.

            You pull back and look toward the car. Maybe it’s time to go.

            “I don’t understand why you don’t want me,” you say instead. Maybe when you get this emotional you actually start to say what you’re thinking, because you definitely didn’t mean to tell him that.

            “I _do_ want you,” he grunts. “Just not like that.”

            “I mean – I thought you were attracted to me.”

            “I am.”

            “What?” you ask. “So – that’s what I’m saying. I thought you wanted to fuck me.”

            “Shit, Noiz,” he rolls his eyes. “I don’t know how to say it. I _want_ to _be_ with you. I just don’t want to – be with you – I don’t want it to just be… something that happens that doesn’t mean anything.”

            You furrow your brows at him. Is he saying – ?

            “Please tell me this isn’t one of those things where you don’t want to fuck me, you want to make love to me,” you say and Mizuki has to cover his upper lip with his bottom one to keep from smiling. You throw your head back and groan. “Are you serious? You’re so lame.”

            “What?” Mizuki shouts, a smile on his face finally. “I’m fine with one night stands! I don’t mind… sex without commitment.”

            “Then what’s your problem?” you ask, swinging your head back down and staring him right in the eyes.

            “I don’t want _you_ to be a one night stand, dumbass!” he shouts. “I’m not saying I want to be your boyfriend but I don’t want it to just be some random thing we do!”

            You want to yell at him. You want to tell him you can’t _believe_ he’s being this romantic and stupid and ridiculous, but he said he didn’t want you to be a one night stand. That means – that means he wants to see you again. He wants you to be something that happens to him more than once and you want to kiss him.

            “Then what do you want?” you ask finally, straightening your legs out and turning to him. He can’t turn to look at you.

            “What about,” he starts, looking away from you and you can’t tell in the dark but you’re positive he’s blushing, “three dates?”

            “Three dates?”

            He covers his face with his hands, rubs them over his eyes and cheeks and foreheads as he grunts into them and says, “Three dates. I want to take you on three dates.”

            “Then we can fuck?”

            “Then we can _evaluate_ ,” he says, lifting his face from his hands finally and looking at you.

            “Right, sorry, then we can – make love?”

            “I just want to get to know you,” he rolls his eyes. “You’re fun. You have cool ideas. You have _weird_ ideas, too. Problematic ideas. Ideas I’m not sure I agree with. But cool ones, too. I want to know how you see the world.”

            Your fingers grip the grass below you. No one has ever been interested in you before. No one has ever wanted to know about you. No one has ever wanted to hear about your ideas. Not other than your little brother, at least. No one has ever cared about how you see the world. You lick your lips.

            “Okay,” you nod. “Three dates.”

            “You have to shake on it,” he says, putting a hand out. “That’s how deals are made. Something physical to seal it.”

            “After three dates, we’ll figure out what we are,” you say, “and what we want. But just to remind each other what we’re working towards, I think we should kiss on it instead.”

            “Working towards?” he asks monotonously. “You think we’re working towards sex?”

            “We’re not?”

            “You think we’re going on three dates because it’s the hurdle before sex?” he asks, putting his hand down. “If that’s how you feel, maybe I don’t want to do this.”

            You study him for a few seconds. Somehow, it makes sense. You’re not sure if it would have a few weeks ago, but it does now. You think about how you felt several minutes ago, like lying in the grass with Mizuki was a different way of being alive that you’d never felt before. Like hearing the songs on the radio and finally having someone to apply them to was the only thing you’ve ever wanted. And how none of that had to do with fucking Mizuki.

            “You’re right,” you say. “I don’t want to be with you just because I want to fuck you.”

            “Good,” he says, putting his hand back up. You take it in yours and you shake.

            “I just really want to kiss, honestly,” you say and he laughs. Then you add, “It’s not sexual, though. I just want to feel you.”

            What the fuck is coming out of your mouth right now? You must be drunk on the moment and the song and the fact that it’s finally dark enough that your eyes are trying to adjust against the bright sheen of the headlights. But Mizuki shrugs and says, “ _I understand,”_ and then he leans in and presses his fingertips to your cheek as he puts his lips against yours, his plump and perfect as they still against yours, kissing you, once, slowly, perfectly.

            The car starts to sputter and the headlights flicker. The battery dies before he even manages to pull away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR SO MANY NOTES I JUST HAVE NO WHERE ELSE TO SAY THIS ? ? SO-
> 
> 1\. HEY I HOPE YOU GUYS DONT THINK I GAVE UP ON THIS FIC it's probably the thing i think about most in my enTIRE LIFE right now  
> 2\. but i am going to need to take a break on it X_x i know that sounds bad but its really not:  
> 3\. i just really want to finish my noijaku first so that i'm not focusing on both at once because that's slowing them BOTH down and the noijaku is very streamlined and planned out and perhaps shorter ? so it will just be easier to finish first AND  
> 4\. i'm going on vacation thursday for over a week so i wont have time to write in a while ! so if this fic doesnt update in a couple weeks ITS JUST BECAUSE I WANT TO BE ABLE TO GIVE IT ALL THE TIME IT DESERVES!  
> 5\. ive said it a trillion times but this fic started as a bit of a personal vent fic but it gained traction and i'm trying to reign it back in to be a bit more serious. so i want time to focus on that so that it can ~be the best fic it can be~ because mizunoiz has dESTROYED my life  
> 6\. as far as this chapter itself goes, im sorry they're eating western food im so sorry, i hope the stuff with the kids was endearing and not just weird eh, there will be 1-3 more chapters before the slow burn finally explodes if you catch my drift, please listen to that song i linked  
> 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koujaku doesn't accept that he and Trip could ever have anything in common, even though in his most vulnerable moments, he now realizes that they do.

            (It’s late on a Tuesday the second time Koujaku has a one-on-one experience with Trip, and he’s not expecting it in the least. He’s just finishing a cigarette outside Black Needle, still baffled as to how Noiz managed to finagle three dates out of his best friend. He can’t believe Mizuki is really going through with it, or that he’s trying to convince Koujaku that it was his own idea. Koujaku knows Mizuki better than that. Right? There’s no way he’d go on a date with _Noiz_. Koujaku lightly reminded him that he’d unceremoniously fucked Noiz by a dumpster behind Black Needle, and Mizuki chuckled. He’d forgotten. Koujaku is incredulous.

            It’s when he’s coming to terms with Mizuki’s apparent apathy for the concept of sloppy seconds, especially those of his best friend’s, when Trip emerges from nowhere. Koujaku bristles like a cat and lowers his cigarette but doesn’t let go. He brandishes it, almost like a weapon, as Trip approaches him.

            “Hey.”

            His voice is low and monotonous, like he’s some stranger passing by on the street. Koujaku scowls at him.

            “What do you want?”

            Trip’s lips press together firmly and he shrugs. His eyes roll to the side. Koujaku shakes his head.

            “Get the fuck out of here,” he says, bringing the cigarette to his mouth again and inhaling. Trip keeps staring at him. It unnerves Koujaku, so he turns toward him and blows the smoke out towards his face.

            “Ha,” Trip laughs, pointing at the cigarette. “Almost out. Want another one?”

            “You got one?”

            “No,” Trip grins. Koujaku is absolutely bewildered.

            “You’re so fucking weird,” he says, suddenly recalling the day Trip sat in his room, completely undeterred by the bleach that had dribbled into his eye. Koujaku shudders just thinking about it.

            “I’m not that weird,” Trip tells him. “Everyone thinks I am, but I’m not. I just let Virus do most of the talking.”

            The random burst of information throws Koujaku for a loop. He stares at Trip, his eyebrows stitched and his mouth open slightly.

            “O—kay?” he shrugs. “Well, if you don’t get out of here in two seconds, I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”

            “Hm,” Trip turns his head to the side and studies Koujaku from head to toe. Koujaku suddenly feels very exposed. “I bet I could take you.”

            Koujaku scoffs again. He probably could. That’s fairly obvious. He already did, really, on Koujaku’s own doorstep, just before he threatened Mizuki. Koujaku was never too worried that he’d make good on that threat, but he couldn’t stand the thought that he might. If anything ever happened to Mizuki again –

            “Whatever,” Koujaku mutters. “What are you doing here? I thought you guys didn’t come around here anymore.”

            “We stopped for a while. But we’re back again.”

            “Oh yeah? And why is that?”

            Trip shrugs.

            “Territory changed. Ask Akushima.”

            “Akushima?” Koujaku asks. There’s a name he hasn’t heard in a while. “Wasn’t he in Toue’s pocket?”

            “Hm,” Trip hums loudly. He smiles and it makes Koujaku sick to his stomach. “Toue? I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

            “You wouldn’t?” Koujaku is sure Virus and Trip had nothing to do with Toue, but something also tells him that they knew more about Platinum Jail than they let on.

            “Nope,” Trip shakes his head. “We just do what we’re told. Bosses took us away from Dry Juice territory for a while, now we’re back. We don’t like to cause trouble for anyone. We just do what we’re told.”

            “Somehow it’s hard for me to believe you’d ever do something just because someone told you to,” Koujaku says, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out.

            “Heard from Aoba lately?”

            Koujaku’s head snaps up and he glares into Trip’s grinning face. He takes a few deep breaths to calm down – just hearing him say Aoba’s name is sinful. His eyelids hurt as he tries to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his head.

            “Fuck off,” he says quietly. He means to turn and leave, but something stops him. He keeps sneering at Trip, who keeps smiling back. He wants to deck him in the face, but all he can do is stand, rooted in place, seeing if Trip has anything else to say.

            “I’m just wondering.”

            Koujaku grits his teeth.

            “If he wanted to talk to you, I’m sure he’d have asked for your number.”

            “He did,” Trip says and a thousand fireworks go off in Koujaku’s head. Yeah right. He wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t care enough about them. There’s no way.

            “Sure,” Koujaku mumbles. Trip’s eyes widen.

            “He did,” Trip insists. “It’s funny. We knew him a long time. But he never mentioned you.”

            “Yeah?” Koujaku spits. “Well, I knew him longer. And he never mentioned you two bastards, either.”

            Trip laughs.

            “You’re funny,” he says. Koujaku is so fucking baffled at this point that he wonders if he can just walk away without saying anything else. “How long did you know Aoba?”

            “Are you fucking serious?” Koujaku asks. “Are you trying to talk to me?”

            “I’ve been talking to you this whole time,” Trip says dumbly. “I just wanted to know. I wasn’t aware you knew him that long.”

            “He’s been my best friend since we were children,” Koujaku tells him, though he isn’t sure why. He feels a certain obligation to prove his friendship with Aoba to Trip, and he can’t explain it. “So I know him better than anyone else.”

            “What about Mizuki?”

            “What _about_ Mizuki?”

            “Aren’t you best friends with him?”

            Koujaku frowns a bit. It took him weeks after initially telling Mizuki about Ryuuhou and watching him rip down his art in a panic to talk to him about it again, seriously enough that they could go back to seeing each other every day without so much tension in the air.

            Maybe that’s why he’s dating Noiz now. Koujaku could say it’s because he’s trying to get back at him – but really, he just wonders if he doesn’t know Mizuki at all anymore.

            “I – he – we’re friends,” Koujaku says softly, staring at a shallow puddle of collected rainwater and stray gasoline. Then he remembers whom he’s talking to and he shakes his head. “Whatever. Go away. I’m going home.”

            “It’s just a coincidence,” Trip tells him. “I’ve known Virus about as long as you have Aoba.”

            Something about that gives Koujaku pause.

            “You’re childhood friends?”

            “We’re childhood – something like that,” Trip shrugs. “At least, we know everything about each other. Do you know everything about Aoba?”

            Koujaku’s heart swells. He can’t tear his eyes away from Trip’s.

            “Do you know everything about Mizuki?”

            Koujaku wants to cry.

            “Well, anyway,” Trip says, turning to go. “Tell your Rhyme friend we’ll be in Bug Bomb territory tomorrow.”

            “Rhyme friend?” Koujaku asks before Trip can get too far. “You mean Noiz?”

            “Yeah,” he nods, turning his head back to look at him. “He’s fun. He can find us there if he wants.”

            “What do you mean, ‘he’s fun?’”

            Trip frowns and looks away.

            “I mean he’s interesting. Did you know he can hardly feel anything?”

            “Did I – what?”

            “You can scratch him, bite him as hard as you want. He can’t feel it. Anyway, bye.”

            Koujaku’s mouth hangs open in shock as Trip walks away. He shuffles around in his pocket for another cigarette. He needs it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have another mizunoiz chapter right after this, stand by


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the day Noiz will come to remember as the day he felt like he could do anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [~and i knew that you meant it~](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVN2b0DdZAQ)
> 
> ((LIKE EXTREMELY RECOMMENDED LISTENING PLEASE LISTEN))

            Hideo is on his computer, hunched forward and staring intently at the screen as his eyes scan across it, apparently reading something very important. He’s the only member of Ruff Rabbit you’ve ever been particularly close to, if actually wishing you a good morning or asking how your day was counts as “close.” He’s a nice guy. He does what you ask, even now that Rhyme isn’t as important. You think he was always in it for the technology more than the game itself, so he never felt a need to leave the team. He has some other full-time job, but you still see each other at the Ruff Rabbit hangout often, though you hardly speak. You wonder if you’re close enough to him. You wonder if you can tell him.

            Mizuki has introduced you to a lot of new things. Bursting at the seams with good news is one of them. You don’t know whom to tell.

            “Hey,” you say. Hideo raises his eyebrows and looks at you.

            “Yeah?”

            “Guess what.”

            He looks confused. He frowns and rubs at his chin.

            “What?”

            “I have a date tonight.”

            He looks at you slightly open-mouthed. He has no idea why you’ve told him this. But you can’t stop smiling.

            “Oh,” he nods. “Cool.”

            Yeah. It is cool.

            You tried to tell Koujaku, but Mizuki had gotten to him first. At first you were disappointed, but then you realized you could rub his face in it, so you did that instead. And that was extremely satisfying ( _“Say bye to Mizuki now, because you won’t be seeing him tomorrow night – in fact, the date is probably going to spill into the next morning – maybe the next afternoon – fuck it, just don’t plan on seeing Mizuki for the entire weekend, yeah?”),_ but you really want to brag about it. Beni Shigure and Dry Juice are the closest you have to friends, and they already know. You have no one to boast to about it. At first, that makes you sad. You’ve never been sad about not having friends before, but now that you have one, you see how great it is and you want more.

            But then you realize you can’t revel in it to anyone you know because they all know already. Because Mizuki told them. Because Mizuki wanted to brag about you, too. At least, that’s what you assume, anyway. That alone is enough to gloat about to Koujaku. He doesn’t seem too receptive though, and your smirk wavers when he tells you that you don’t deserve someone like Mizuki because you know that’s probably true. You don’t want to hear that right now. You don’t want to imagine Koujaku fucking you against a bathroom wall, whispering in your ear all the little reasons why you don’t deserve to go on a date with someone like Mizuki.

            So you don’t talk to Koujaku the day of the date. Only Hideo. Only safe, noncommittal Hideo. Hideo thinks you’re cool. Hideo has never really wanted much from you. Hideo is cool.

            “He’s taking me to dinner,” you tell him. Hideo smiles.

            “Where is he taking you?”

            “I – don’t know,” you shrug. “I just know he’s taking me to dinner.”

            “That’s cool.”

            “Yeah,” you nod. “It _is_ cool.”

            And you’ve never felt pre-date nerves, though you’ve certainly heard other people talk about them. You’ve seen it in movies and on TV, but you always thought it was silly. You deny to yourself that you actually picked out what to wear days ago, the second Mizuki asked you out, but you did – a black long-sleeve shirt and jeans. But now you wonder if that’s too plain. That’s what you wear out with him to clubs and bars sometimes. Maybe you should wear something nicer? Maybe you should dress for the place he’s taking you? Wait, you don’t know where he’s taking you. Fuck. Why didn’t you ask him where he’s taking you?

            You wonder if it’s tacky to message him the day of the date, just a few hours before he’ll be here to pick you up, but then your Coil goes off and you have a message from him. All it says is, “ _I’m excited,”_ and you grin to yourself. Surely he won’t mind what you wear.

            Plus he’s probably going to be wearing his leather jacket anyway. Something tells you Mizuki is not exactly the showiest person ever, so you stick with your long-sleeve shirt and message back, _“Get here early and we can do a pre-date good luck ritual.”_ He sends back, “ _Not a chance. See you in a bit,”_ and all you can do is grin and roll around on the couch in excitement. You’re really glad no one can see you right now.

            Of course, when there’s finally a knock on the door a few hours later, you have to concentrate on containing yourself. You sit up immediately, turn your TV off (not that you were paying attention to whatever was on anyway) and take a deep breath. You’re not nervous. You just don’t want to seem too eager. You have to center yourself. You close your eyes, breath in a few times and pause for a moment at the door before you open it.

            And you weren’t expecting this. You weren’t expecting to want to crumple to the floor when you see him. Mizuki has his hands in his back pockets and he’s not even looking at you right away, he’s staring off the to the side but he turns to you when you open the door all the way and he smiles. It’s not a goofy grin or a seductive smirk, it’s just a genuine smile, like he’s glad to see you, like you’re an old friend and he’s just going to come over to hang out with you. He’s wearing a dark red Oxford and jeans and you suddenly feel underdressed but you’re far more preoccupied with staring at him to worry about that. He’s just Mizuki, only dressed up, and you think you might implode. How are you supposed to get through an entire date without kissing him when he looks like _this_?

            He offers you his arm immediately and cocks his head.

            “You look great,” he says. You scoff.

            “No I don’t,” you don’t mean to say. Mizuki frowns. You weren’t being self-deprecating. You just meant that comparatively, Mizuki is the far more attractive of the two of you.

            “Yes you do,” he says. You shake your head.

            “I just meant,” you stutter, coming outside and shutting the door as you take his arm. “I just meant you look great, too.”

            “Thanks,” he says brightly, linking his arm against yours and walking you down the sidewalk to the street. “We don’t have to walk like this the whole way.”

            “We’re walking?”

            “Ah,” he hesitates. “Yeah, I – don’t have a car. Is that alright?”

            You nod. Of course it’s alright. Mizuki could sign you both up for a thousand-mile marathon and it would be alright, if you got to do it together. You’re not going to tell him that, though.

            “Sorry,” he says. “It’s not far, though.”

            “It’s alright,” you tell him. You pull his arm closer to you, until his side is against yours. He laughs softly and takes his arm away to wrap around your shoulder and you love this so much that you want to throw up.

            “It’s not the nicest place, either,” he says. You shake your head.

            “It’s _alright_ ,” you repeat, softer. You’d give him a hard time, but you can’t think of anything to say. It’s alright.

            “But we can do something more fun after dinner,” he continues. You want to punch him in the mouth.

            “Stop talking,” you tell him. “I don’t care what we do.”

            “Okay,” he smiles. “Sorry. I haven’t been on a date in a while.”

            “I’ve never been on a date,” you blurt out. He doesn’t skip a beat.

            “That’s why I’m taking you on the best first date ever. Or – the best first date I can afford.”

            This is the place where you say something like, _“It’s already the best first date because it’s with you_ ,” but you can’t bring yourself to say it. It’s not that it’s too cheesy. You just don’t want him to know how strongly you feel about it. You just stay quiet and lean into his side more. It’s nice. It feels like he’s protecting you. You couldn’t care less right now if this is cliché or silly. You like feeling protected.

            He asks how you spent your day and you tell him you went down to the Ruff Rabbit hangout and spent time programming and then you realize how boring that sounds. You try to come up with something more exciting, but you really have nothing. When you ask him what he did, he reminds you of how lame you are by recounting all the things that happened to him within just one day at Black Needle. He sounds annoyed at first, when he tells you that a bunch of Beni Shigure guys decided the weekend started at noon and got drunk, but of course he joined in with a few shots. Then his voice softens when he tells you about the people he met and saw today. A girl got a humongous side tattoo finished, after four sessions. Another man got a tattoo in memory of his mother who just passed away – she had lived through the rise and fall of Toue, much like Tae-san – and Mizuki told you all about her, as if she were his own mother.

            You don’t respond. You realize that must be why Mizuki is so warm and empathetic, why he connected with you so readily. He must hear people’s stories every day, while they’re sitting in his tattoo chair. He likes to sit and listen. He likes people’s stories. He remembers so many of them, and in such detail that you’re shocked. You wonder if you can tell him your story. You wonder if he’d remember it if you did.

            “But after he left, I had to do more shots,” he rolls his eyes.

            “That’s a lot of shots,” you say. “Are you drunk right now?”

            “Please,” he scoffs. “My tolerance is better than that.”

            “Tolerance?”

            “Yeah,” he nods. “You know. Like… like, I can drink a lot without getting too drunk. Because I – have a high tolerance to alcohol.”

            Oh yeah. You knew that. You really did. You just hadn’t ever realized that Mizuki drank that much, but now that you think about it, he really does. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen Mizuki completely out of control – there was, of course, the ill-fated night on his couch, but he wasn’t _wasted_. You’ve seen people completely incoherent on alcohol before. You used to think Mizuki just didn’t drink enough to get that way, but now you’re wondering if it just takes a lot more to get him that drunk. There’s a sharp sting of anxiety in your stomach when you realize he must have to drink a _lot_ if he doesn’t ever get wasted.

            “Right,” is all you say. You turn onto a less residential street and wiggle out of his grip when you see the crowds of people out on a Friday night. He frowns at you.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Oh,” you stop in your tracks. He takes another step and then turns back to you.

            “What did I do?”

            “No,” you shake your head. “Nothing. I just saw all the people and figured – I don’t know. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

            “If you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t.”

            “No,” you say quickly. “I just thought – lots of people. PDA. I don’t know.”

            “Holding someone’s hand isn’t PDA,” he tells you as he puts his own hand out again. You take it. Mizuki doesn’t mind holding your hand in front of people. Mizuki doesn’t care who sees. You want to throw up.

            He walks you down one more street and you’re anxious the entire time that people will stare, that people will laugh at you and feel sorry for him, that you’re putting him in an awful situation, but no one even looks your way. No one gives a shit that you’re holding his hand. No one thinks it’s weird that you’re on a date, that someone wanted to take you out to dinner and hold your hand. It’s normal. Everyone thinks you and Mizuki look normal together and don’t even give you a second glance.

            You stop outside a nicer looking bar than usual. It’s far fancier inside than out, but there are people dressed even more casually than you, so you’re not exactly out of place. When you’re both seated and holding menus, you look up at him with a small smile.

            “Wow,” you say. “Cloth napkins and everything.”

            He laughs wholeheartedly. He thought that was really funny, apparently.

            “I wanted to go all-out,” he says with a shake of his head. “I think they even have a wine list.”

            “Oh,” you drawl, feigning that you’re impressed. “Can you even afford a glass of wine?”

            “Hey,” he jeers. “I have more money than you think.”

            “Did you save up just for this date?”

            “A little,” he shrugs. He goes back to the menu like it was nothing, but you stop laughing. Did he really save up just to take you out? You’re a little horrified that he’d do that for you, but you’re also so overwhelmed that he might. You look back at the menu and try to focus on what you’re going to eat instead of think about Mizuki’s money situation.

            He orders some sort of seafood and you get the cheapest thing on the menu and hope he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t seem to react at all, but you eating pasta is not exactly a shocking development, so he probably doesn’t even realize that you didn’t want him to spend that much money on you. You figure you should pay for your own food anyway, and it’s not like you couldn’t buy three bottles of wine. What are you doing? You just told yourself you weren’t going to worry about Mizuki’s money situation.

            Then you look up at him and the way he’s staring at you shakes all financial worries from your head. He’s heavy-lidded and watching you from under his bangs with a small smile. He’s the most gorgeous person you have ever known in your entire life and his shirt is so crisp and lies so perfectly against his body that you want to rip it off and kiss him everywhere. But that’s not until at least the third date, so you try to calm yourself.

            “So this is really your first date ever?” he asks. You take a deep breath and nod. He shrugs at you. “You’re still young, though, right? Twenty?”

            “Yeah,” you nod again. He’s the first person to get your age right in months.

            “That’s not that weird,” he tells you, placing his elbow on the table and setting his chin in his hand. “My first real date wasn’t until I was well into my twenties.”

            “Really?” you ask. That’s genuinely surprising. You would have thought Mizuki had been on plenty of dates by the time he was your age.

            “Yeah,” he nods. “Like, the first time I actually went out with anyone as a pre-planned event or something. I was… probably about twenty-three.”

            You grimace.

            “You’re lying,” you say. “To make me feel better.”

            “Why would that make you feel better?” he asks in confusion.

            “I don’t know. I didn’t say it would. I just said you were doing it.”

            “Well, I’m not,” he tells you emphatically, his hand thumping against the table suddenly. He blinks rapidly at you and says, “The first date I went on wasn’t until I was twenty-three, and it went terribly.”

            “Yeah?” you laugh. “Why?”

            He rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat. You’re sitting perfectly still, your hands in your lap, and you can’t will yourself to move at all. You’re suddenly very aware of just how stiff you are compared to him, but you don’t feel nervous, so you don’t know why that is.

            “We just weren’t right for each other,” he says. “She was really interesting but we just didn’t have anything in common.”

            “And we do?”

            “Don’t we?” he turns his head slightly to regard you with curiosity.

            “Do we?” you repeat with a small smile. You want to know what he thinks.

            “Would we be on the date otherwise?”

            “You just told me you went on a date with someone you had nothing in common with,” you say dully. “So apparently we might be.”

            “Shut up,” he smiles. “We have stuff in common.”

            “Like what?”

            “Mm,” he hums as he looks up at the ceiling for a moment. “Isn’t the fact that we’ve been getting to know each other enough? If we didn’t have anything in common we wouldn’t be getting along, would we?”

            “So you can’t think of anything concrete that we have in common?”

            “Well, that’s the point of the date,” he smiles widely. “We already get along and have a chemistry. And now I want to get to know you.”

            Your heart starts racing.

            “Why?”

            “Why what?”

            “Why do you want to get to know me?”

            “Because I like you.”

            You stare at him for a moment and then nod slowly.

            “I like you, too.”

            “That’s why we’re on a date.”

            You laugh out your nose softly and smile.

            “Okay,” you say. “Then – tell me about your childhood.”

            “My childhood?” he laughs. “You just want to dive right in?”

            “You wanted to get to know each other,” you shrug. “Where do you want to start?”

            “Okay,” he relents, licking his lips and looking away for a moment as he thinks again. He takes a deep breath and smiles before he starts. “I was born here. Lived here my whole life. Never left it once. You’re not from here, right?”

            You’re a bit thrown off. You weren’t expecting him to turn the attention to you so quickly.

            “N-no,” you stammer.

            “Where are you from?”

            “Germany.”

            “How did you end up here?”

            Your voice gets stuck in your throat. He thinks it’s basic information, but you don’t know what to say exactly.

            “Uh,” you stall. “Rhyme. I just came for Rhyme.”

            He winces. That’s right. He hated Rhyme. You want to apologize but you think that might just make it worse.

            “Why did you want to do Rhyme?” he asks. He looks you in the eye and sounds genuine. He’s not passive aggressive or angry. You still can’t tell him the truth. You shrug.

            “Just wanted to do it. It looked interesting.”

            “You came all the way here from Germany just to play Rhyme?”

            “It was lucrative,” you tell him. “I just wanted to go wherever the new technology was.”

            “So why are you still here?”

            Part of you feels a little hurt. It sounds like he’s ungrateful that you’re still here, but you know he didn’t mean that. You swallow harshly and finally lift your hand and start to finger the condensation on the outside of your water glass.

            “I just liked it here I guess.”

            “You didn’t want to go back to Germany once Rhyme – whatever?”

            “No,” you say firmly. “I didn’t see any reason in it.”

            “Why not?”

            “Maybe I just didn’t love my home as much as you do,” you say a bit angrily. He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

            “Sorry,” he nods.

            “No, it’s fine,” you say, meeting his eyes so that he knows you’re serious. “That’s just – that’s the reason. I don’t care about going back to Germany.”

            “Can I ask why not?”

            “I just don’t,” you shrug.

            “Okay,” he nods again. “That’s a good enough reason.”

            You actually start to smile. He’s only asking because he’s interested. No one has ever asked about your life before. No one has ever been interested in you. You shift in your seat to sit up more and reach across the table, putting your fingers close to his. He looks down and touches them lightly with his own and then looks you in the eye. You nod towards them and he puts his hand on top of yours quietly.

            “So – why did you decide to open a bar?” you ask, changing the subject as subtly as possible. He cocks his head at you. 

            “I didn’t open a bar, I opened a tattoo shop.”

            “Right,” you shake your head. “Why’d you do that?”

            “Because I’m an artist,” he says. “I wanted to do art.”

            “An artist?”

            He cocks his head at you.

            “Yeah,” he says, as if you should have already known this. “I love tattoos but there’s no denying that I got into it because it was a way to make money while doing what I loved. And there’s a high demand for tattoos here, since everyone wants their team marks on their bodies.”

            You can’t believe you never really thought about that. Mizuki isn’t a Rib leader. He’s not a bartender or a tattooist. He’s an artist. How is this just dawning on you? Mizuki is truly the most beautiful person you’ve ever known.

            “You do other kinds of art?” you ask. He nods emphatically.

            “Tons,” he says. “I have a bunch of sketchbooks at home. You can see them if you want.”

            “Yes,” you answer immediately. “I do.”

            “Sure,” he smiles. “Next time you come over, remind me. I’ll show you.”

            “Yeah,” you nod. “That would be cool.”

            “So – what do you – do?” he asks cautiously. “How do you manage to live in that apartment? That’s in the nicest part of town. Not to be invasive, or anything.”

            “I just program. I made a lot of money brokering information for Rhyme. Like, a _lot_. But now I mostly just do whatever programming jobs I find.”

            “Is that – there’s a lot of money in that, then?”

            “Yep,” you lie. You’re not telling him that you still live off your parents’ credit card. It would sound embarrassing if you didn’t explain it, and you’re definitely not going to explain it. You’re not telling Mizuki that you still wish every day that they would see you’ve been using it since the day you left. You’re not telling Mizuki that you’re shocked every day that goes by and they haven’t called. They haven’t even canceled the card. They don’t care if you leech from them, as long as you stay as far away from them and your brother as possible. You aren’t telling Mizuki that.

            “I guess I didn’t realize,” he says. “That’s cool.”

            It falls silent. It’s not necessarily awkward, not with Mizuki rubbing his fingers along yours – you can see it, but you can’t feel it – but you _feel_ awkward, knowing that Mizuki can’t possibly make enough money off tattoos and alcohol to take you on three dates as nice as this. And if he has enough saved up, you sure as Hell don’t want him wasting it on dates with you.

            “Hey,” you say finally. “What if – what if the next date, I take _you_ out?”

            “What do you mean?” he asks, his lips parted slightly as he shakes his bangs out of his eyes.

            “I mean, you planned this date. I – assumed you were paying.”

            “I am,” he nods emphatically.

            “Okay, so, next date, let me pay instead.”

            “But I’m the one who wanted to take you out,” he argues. You shake your head.

            “Well, I want to take _you_ out. So shut up. I’m going to take you out next time.”

            “But – ”

            “Shut up,” you repeat.

            “No, but – “

            “Mizuki, shut your mouth,” you tell him. “I’m taking you out.”

            “Don’t tell me to shut up,” he says loudly. “Are you saying I’m fucking poor?”

            “What – no,” you submit instantly. This isn’t what you meant to happen. “Sorry, I – no. I just meant – you can spend a million dollars on me tonight, I don’t care. I still just – want to take you out once, too.”

            Mizuki leans back and that’s when you notice his hand isn’t on yours anymore. He studies you carefully and you’ve never been more embarrassed. Well, that’s probably not true – but you’re really upset. You hope giving him sad eyes will convince him that you didn’t mean it, but you don’t think you could stop yourself from looking sad right now if you wanted to anyway.

            “Fine,” he says finally. “I guess. If you feel as strongly as I did, I probably can’t convince you otherwise.” You raise your eyebrows and start to smile but then he says, “But don’t ever tell me to shut my mouth when I’m trying to say something again. I hate that.”

            You nod quickly.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “It’s fine.”

            “So – I can take you out tomorrow?”

            “Tomorrow?” he laughs. “Isn’t that a little soon?”

            “No,” you say desperately. “I want to take you out on a date every night.”

            “Damn,” he whispers. You should be embarrassed, but you’re not. “Every night? Don’t you want to space them out? Drag it out, so it takes longer? To go on all three?”

            “Are you saying this all ends after the three dates?”

            His entire body deflates and he looks at you sadly. He puts his hand back on top of yours.

            “No,” he tells you. “I hope not.”

            “It doesn’t have to.”

            He smiles sorrowfully, but it’s more hopeful than hopeless, as if he doesn’t want to believe something good is happening. You’d reassure him, if you knew for certain that’s what he was thinking, but you don’t, so you stay quiet. You don’t tell him that this a good thing, that a good thing is already happening, and that it can only lead to more good things.

            He mumbles something and you lean in to ask him to repeat that when you smack your face into the plate that’s being placed in front of you. You knock it forward but the waiter manages to keep a firm grip on it and you pull back immediately with a frenzied apology. The waiter puts both plates down and when you can finally look at Mizuki again without cringing in embarrassment, he cocks his head to the side and grins at you pitifully.

            “Food.”

            “What?”

            “I was saying, ‘ _food_.’ That’s what I was saying. Before you slammed your face into it.”

            “Shut up,” you mutter, positive that your pale skin is blushing hard enough for him to see, even with the lights as dim as they are.

            He spends the rest of the meal making jokes at your expense, asking if you’d like dessert or if you would simply feel the need to attack it with your face too, and you wish he’d shut up, but something about it is oddly calming. You don’t have time to think about it, to focus on how stupid you felt, because Mizuki keeps giggling and smiling at you for it, and all you can do is try not to laugh back at him. He doesn’t let it go until you’re outside again. It’s dark now, and the streets are lit up by lamps and storefronts and neon signs, and there are even more people walking by than before. Everyone’s out now. You turn to him.

            “So what are we doing now?” you ask. “You said we’d do something fun.”

            He doesn’t look at you. Instead, he simply grabs your arm and pulls you close again and grins as he looks off into the distance. You follow his sightline to see what he’s looking at but you don’t see anything interesting.

            “Mizuki?”

            “That was a nice dinner, right?” he asks. His eyes are sparkling. He feels dangerous. More dangerous than usual.

            “Yeah,” you say. “Why?”

            “I don’t want to shortchange you,” he says. “I want you to have a nice, normal first date.”

            “What are you saying?”

            “I want you to get the romantic dinner and a movie. But I have a better idea than a movie.”

            “What is it?”

            He still never looks at you as he pulls your arm and you fly forward, falling into a brisk pace behind him as he runs down the street. He weaves in and out of the throngs of people coming toward you both, who hardly react. You don’t have a second to catch your breath and ask him where he’s taking you until he has you pinned against a wall in an alley that branches off the main street. You think he’s about to kiss you but he doesn’t, he just puts his finger to your lips to tell you to stay quiet, so you do. You would do anything he told you to at this point. He jerks his head to the left and you look toward the darkened road on the other side of the alley.

            There’s a police car there.

            “Yes,” you whisper violently. “Whatever it is. Yes.”

            He nods in agreement as a grin spreads wide across his face.

            “It’s Akushima,” he whispers back. You definitely know Akushima. You can’t stand Akushima.

            “What do you have in mind?”

            “Do you have any of your cubes?”

            You pull two Usagimodokis out of your pocket and hold them in your outstretched palm to him.

            “Can they distract him?”

            “What are you trying to do?”

            “Just – can they distract him?”

            “Sure.”

            “Stay here. I’m going to run around to the other side,” he says, turning you by the shoulders to face Akushima’s car and then pointing to an alley on the opposite side. “I’ll just – wave or something. Throw them down the street and make sure he follows them. Can you do that?”

            “Yeah,” you say, licking your lips in anticipation. Then Mizuki is gone and you’re left with your back against the brick wall, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. You look back and forth between the crowd of people to your right and Akushima in his car to your left. You assume it’s going to take a while for Mizuki to double back and you have no idea what he has planned, but you can’t –

            You choke on your own breath.

            Bright yellow hair sticks out from the rest of the crowd. Your eyes are playing tricks on you. They must be. You think you see a small flash of a smirk but by the time you push yourself off the wall and walk back to the sidewalk and into the sea of people, it’s gone.

            It wasn’t Trip. You crane your neck, lift up on your toes to check the crowd. If it were Virus and Trip, they wouldn’t have been able to disappear like that. They’re far too noticeable. They’re too big. They can’t hide. You saw – some other shorthaired blond, surely.

            You could have sworn that was Trip.

            You swallow the lump in your throat and retreat back to the alley. When you turn around, Mizuki is a distant figure on the other side of the street and he waves at you.

            “Shit,” you mutter, turning your palm up and letting your Usagimodokis out of your grueling grip. You turn them on and then approach Akushima’s car, ducking behind a dumpster when you get close. You turn to your Coil and input a navigational course for three streets down for one and six streets down for the other. They spring to life in your palm with a shrill cry.

            “Sh,” you whisper sharply. They vibrate slightly but remain quiet as you peek over the top of the dumpster to make sure Akushima isn’t looking your way. He’s on his Coil in his car so you throw the first one directly at him. It lands on the hood of the car and Mizuki gives you a thumbs-up.

            Akushima springs to life immediately, not unlike your Usagimodoki. However, where your Allmates are cute and enthusiastic, he growls so loudly under his breath that you can hear it as he slams the door to his car shut and swipes at your Usagimodoki. It jumps just out of his grip and as he starts to follow it, you throw the second one and then duck as quickly as possible.

            You can hear him shouting as he runs down the street at them and then get on your hands and knees and poke your head out to check on Mizuki. He’s rushing to the car and when he meets your eyes he ushers you over quickly with his hand. You get up and run to him.

            “Passenger side!” he cries quietly in delight, and you’ve never seen him laughing this hard before. He puts a finger to his lips again to implore you to be quiet still and you run to the other side of the car and get in. The police car has far more to it than the one that Mizuki borrows to drive you to the field, and something on the console jabs you in the side, hard enough that you can feel it. Not enough to cry out in pain, it’s more of a dull pinch, but you know that if you could feel that much, you’ll probably be bruised in the morning. Virus and Trip flash through your thoughts briefly.

            Mizuki flings the driver side door open and stares at the wheel. His hand flies to the keys and he turns the car on.

            “Noiz!” he shouts through crazed laughter. “Noiz, I forgot I’d need keys!”

            “What?” you ask breathlessly.

            “I can’t believe it, I – I forgot I’d need his keys – I would have been so fucked – the dumbass left his fucking keys in here, I can’t believe this!”

            Mizuki flashes the brights on and then grabs your hand. You can’t make out a single word he’s saying.

            “Hang on,” he says and then he pumps the gas. The car flies back and he reverses into the alley and turns the car around. You can see Akushima waving his megaphone in the air as he runs fruitlessly behind you. You lose him after just a few seconds and this is absolutely the best date you’ve ever been on.

            It doesn’t matter that it’s the only date you’ve ever been on.

            “Where are we going?” you ask when Mizuki finally slows down and reaches a more even pace.

            “Where do we ever go?”

            You crawl into his lap when you get to the field and he doesn’t protest. You promise that you aren’t going to touch or kiss him and he nods at you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You bury your head just below his neck and grip his shoulder with your hands, letting your arms hang limply around him and you know you probably seem fucking needy but he smells like cologne and cat litter and you know that if you could feel, you would feel strong arms holding you and warm skin on yours and that’s all you’ve ever wanted.

            “When do you want to head back?” he whispers right into your ear suddenly, almost an hour later. You sigh.

            “Never.”

            He laughs quietly.

            “Sounds good to me.”

            You spend the night there. When you wake up to see Mizuki shivering on dew-covered grass, you roll over and wrap an arm around him. You don’t know how cold it must be outside, but you can’t stand to see him shaking.

            He wakes up twenty minutes later and calls a cab. You leave Akushima’s car there. You hope it’s still there by the next time you come around.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know you guys probably have trust issues with me by now but i promise i'm back to this fic and i hope to update every thursday. i started to retimeline it and it looks like by the end of it it might be almost twice as long as speak like you wails


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> noiz will come to realize this was the day that everything actually started

            You have always been very good at research. Maybe it’s the years of not doing much but stealing your parents’ wifi to learn about everything you could ever want to know. That’s how you learned Japanese in the first place – and English, Italian, and Sindarin – and how you came to know what Rhyme was. Five years ago, you researched Midorijima for its pain-inducing cyber game and today you’re researching it for its best date location.

            You decide on a fancy restaurant – the most expensive one you can find – that’s just on the edge of Platinum Jail, which has been reopened for the public. It’s only a few streets, mostly restaurants and a few high-class shops that sell designer whatevers and shit like that, you’re not really sure and you don’t really care – until you realize you could maybe buy Mizuki something nice from one of those places. You put that on your to-do list.

            You tell him you have a reservation for dinner tomorrow at eight and tell him to dress up. He doesn’t respond for a few hours, when he messages back, _“What kind of dress up? I’m not wearing a tie.”_ You smirk.

            _“Have to wear a tie. Dress code.”_

_“Why are you taking me to a place with a damn dress code?”_

_“Just wear a tie. Do you have a formal jacket?”_

_“Do you think I have a formal jacket?????”_

Mizuki wouldn’t fit into one of yours. His shoulders are far too big. You get distracted for a few minutes, salivating as you stare out the window, thinking about Mizuki’s shoulders. Finally, you message back:

            _“You’re probably fine without the jacket. Please wear a tie tho :c I already made the reservation.”_

_“I’m just giving you a hard time. Are you picking me up?”_

_“Yes, be ready by seven-thirty. I’ll see you tomorrow.”_

You’re still ecstatic that he let you take him out instead and you want it to be the perfect night. You thought about hiring a driver but you decided instead to rent a car – you got your license when you first came to Midorijima but you’ve never really driven anywhere, so you hope you don’t crash and kill the both of you because the insurance premiums are astronomical. Really, you just hope that you look a tenth as good behind the wheel of a car as Mizuki does, so you ordered the sleekest, most expensive one. You have to pick that up within the next few hours. In the meantime, you re-familiarize yourself with dinner etiquette. You get the feeling Mizuki won’t know the soupspoon from the dessertspoon, but you want to know enough to get by at the restaurant. Your parents taught you the upper class etiquette when you were a kid. You, unfortunately, never forgot it. Also unfortunate is that you always kind of liked it. You brush up on your wine knowledge as well. Black Needle doesn’t serve wine.

            You get the car with little trouble other than having to remember the code to your building’s garage. You’ve never had to park anything there before, so you have to check your Coil. It’s hard to sleep that night because everything has been leading up to this. Everything has been leading up to you really wooing Mizuki. You want to prove to him that you’re mature. That he might be seven years older than you, but you’re every bit as grown up as he – you’re at least as mature as Koujaku, and he has no probably spending all his time with _him_.

            Your favorite part of the day is the few minutes it takes you to get to sleep at night because you like to, coincidentally enough, daydream about all the things you don’t spend time fantasizing about during the day. It’s the one moment that you can allow yourself the time and capacity to waste on stupid things like how badly you would like to be married one day, how you’d like to bring your brother over to meet your kids, how you’d like them to meet his kids, how you’d like to curl up against your partner at night in a bed with just-washed linens that smell of lavender and a warmly-lit lamp that drowns the room in a dim glow as you watch TV before you fall asleep. Usually, you just cut out your partners face and don’t think about anyone specific. Sometimes you fill it in with whoever you think is hottest at the moment or whoever you’re most enamored with. And now it’s Mizuki.

            You fall asleep imagining Mizuki reading a book, imagining him throwing his keys on the counter, imagining him leaning over the side of the bed in his pajamas to plug his Coil in to charge. You fall asleep thinking about Mizuki doing the most mundane things because that’s what you hope to become one day with him. Mundane.

            Your Usagimodoki wake you up the next morning and you wonder if he had as much trouble sleeping as you did or if you’re just that ridiculous.

            There’s no one for you to ask if you look okay. There’s no one for you to message frantically and spill your nerves to. There’s no one for you to run to for reassurance. You try to hold off getting ready until you absolutely have to, so that you don’t feel so silly, even if you’re the only one who would know. You only manage to wait until five, but you make up for it by taking an extra long bath. You’re not sure why, it isn’t as though you can feel the water, but you do like sitting in the tub and soaking. You start to daydream again. First it’s about how Mizuki would look naked and straddling you right now, but it quickly turns to how Mizuki would look under a blanket with you, arms around your waist and pulling your hips towards him to cuddle tightly into you. Mizuki would be the best at cuddling.

            You get to his house a little too early and can’t decide if you should do a few laps around his street or not. It would be embarrassing to go up there right now, but it would be even more embarrassing if you got caught waiting out here in the car. You don’t want to risk driving around anymore, because you found you were far more anxious behind the wheel of a car than you thought you were and would hate to get in an accident and ruin the evening before it even started. You sigh and roll your eyes as you park in his parking lot and trudge to his door.

            “You’re early,” is all he says when he opens the door with a huge grin. You sigh.

            “Yeah, sorry,” you say. “Misjudged traffic.”

            “Traffic?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow. “In Midorijima?”

            “You’re not ready?”

            “You’re early.”

            “Not _that_ early.”

            “It’s seven. I have another half an hour.”

            “Do you want me to go wait in the car?” you ask dumbly. He pulls you in by the collar of your shirt.

            “Get in here, dumbass.”

            He closes the door behind you and three cats immediately rush you. You don’t remember which ones they are anymore and you pick your feet up and jump away. He snorts at you.

            “They won’t hurt you,” he says. You frown.

            “My slacks are black,” you tell him. “I don’t want cat fur on them.”

            “Your slacks _are_ black,” Mizuki says with a sly smile, stepping back and stroking his chin with his hand. He studies you from top to bottom and you hope to fuck that you aren’t blushing.

            “And it only gets better once you take the slacks off,” you tell him. He scoffs at you and turns to walk into his bedroom daintily. He’s like a fucking princess and you want to treat him like one.

            “I’ll get dressed,” he calls and you walk awkwardly to the doorway of his bedroom. You don’t want to go in. Bedrooms are still a bit too personal for you.

            “I’ll wait on the couch,” you say. You hear him make a confused noise from the back of his throat.

            “Just come in,” he shouts. “I’ll get dressed in the closet so it won’t ruin the surprise if you’re really that worried.”

            “No, really, I’ll wait out here,” you yell back, though you’re very tempted. You keep your eyes glued to the floor. So you aren’t expecting it when Mizuki’s head rounds the corner of the door and he pushes you by the shoulder.

            “Wait wherever you want,” he says, keeping half his body hidden. He’s shirtless. You see tattoos creeping along the back of his shoulders and suddenly you’re alert and very interested. “But you can come in here. I don’t mind.”

            You hesitate. You really, _really_ don’t think you should go in there. You know that all your daydreams will resurface, that you’ll immediately imagine what it would be like to sleep with Mizuki and then cuddle, then bask in the afterglow. You don’t know if you’ve ever had sex that concluded with a tender touch or aftercare of any kind. You’d like that. You’d like that with Mizuki. And if you look at his bedroom – if you sit on his bed – there won’t be any saving you.

            Then again, you’re already too far-gone at this point. So what the hell.

            You take a tentative step toward the door and he smiles as he ushers you in. He _is_ shirtless, and when he turns back to his closet, you finally see a long, sea foam green tattoo etched into his entire back. It reaches high up onto his shoulders and snakes over just slightly. It must extend even further down his ass and legs, as its cut off by his pants and you don’t know what it is – it’s some sort of abstract design. Maybe it’s a cultural thing, you aren’t sure. But once you’re done foaming at the mouth about how hot it is, you take in the rest of his room.

            It’s sort of dark, but you notice a lamp on a desk that’s bulb is directed right onto the surface. It’s not on, so you aren’t sure how bright it might be, but that and a floor lamp by his bed are the only lights in the room. The window is open but the sun is setting, so the room is sort of dark blue and light purple at the same time. The walls are a light gray and his bed is – right in front of you. There are three blankets on it, all balled up into each other and strewn over the mattress. The sheets are white but the blankets are patterned, dark reds and turquoises and greens, and the bed frame is fairly normal. It’s black and metal and you quickly notice the slats. Perfect for bondage. You accidentally smirk to yourself and then rub your mouth so he doesn’t see. He wouldn’t anyway; he’s already in the closet with the door closed. You wander closer to the bed but don’t dare sit down. You wonder what it would be like to be tied to this bed.

            “Sorry it’s so messy,” he calls from the closet, startling you. He doesn’t see you jump. “My room is always – messy. I guess.”

            “It’s fine,” you tell him. You’re about to say something else but a tiny squeak startles you. You try to figure out where it’s coming from.

            “I never clean it,” he continues. “It’s sort of like, no one ever comes in here. The only people who really do are Koujaku, who doesn’t really give a shit, and, well. You know.”

            “I know?” you ask, hearing another squeak and turning your attention to the opposite side of the room.

            “Yeah, you know,” he says quietly. “Usually we’re drunk… usually we’re… gonna mess up the sheets anyway… you know?”

            “Oh,” you laugh, walking carefully to the other side of the bed. You duck your head around to check everywhere. There are some clothes on the floor too, so you’re careful not to step on anything. “Yeah, I know now.”

            “But that’s not that often,” he says quickly. “Just, every now and then. You know.”

            “I know,” you say with a smirk. You’re certainly jealous that Mizuki has had sex with other people, but you’re not surprised. It’s not like you’re a virgin yourself. You shrug, even though he can’t see it.

            “I don’t know why I’m talking about this, sorry,” he mutters. You finally make it to the other side of the bed and that’s when you see it: an orange cat in the corner of the room. It’s curled up on a big pillow, a food and water dish right next to it. It’s staring at you in what you feel like is surprise and concern, like it’s wondering what you’re doing in here, in its home. Mizuki is still talking, about how he sort of rambles when he feels at a loss, but you’re not listening. You’re staring at this cat. You worry that you’re upsetting it. It’s not until Mizuki realizes you’re not answering and walks out of the closet that you move at all. You turn just your head to him in despair.

            “Is it scared of me?” you ask. Mizuki raises his eyebrows.

            “Oh,” he says softly. “No, he’s fine.”

            Mizuki walks past you quickly and rounds the corner of his bed to the cat. He kneels down and pets him so gently that you can’t believe he feels it. You can’t imagine anyone touching you that gently. He uses the back of his fingers as he strokes the top of his head and you’re captivated. The cat croons upwards into his touch. Just a second before, this cat looked terrified and out of place. But now he’s melting into MIzuki’s touch.

            “Was he scared?” you ask again.

            “Well,” Mizuki shrugs. “Probably. But he’s fine now. This is Sake.”

            “Sake isn’t a flower.”

            “Well… I named him when I was drunk,” Mizuki mumbles. You’d laugh that Mizuki effectively named his cat ‘Beer’ if you weren’t strangely touched by it.

            “Why didn’t he just run away?” you ask. “If he was scared.”

            “He can’t,” Mizuki finally turns to look at you over his shoulder, still petting the cat to calmness. “He stays in here on this pillow for the most part because he can’t run. I don’t know if it was something that happened or a genetic thing or what, but his back legs don’t work.”

            “Oh,” you say. “He was the runt.”

            “Maybe,” Mizuki says, looking back at him. “But he has no feeling in his back legs whatsoever.”

            You try to respond but your voice gets stuck in your throat for a moment. You cough lightly and look away.

            “He can’t feel?”

            “Not in his back legs,” Mizuki says. “He can walk fairly well though, somehow. I don’t know how he does it. I kept expecting to come home to find him dead when he was young, but he’s been here a couple years now. The other cats don’t bother him. There’re a couple who like to sit with him sometimes. I don’t know, cats are weird. He doesn’t go outside at all, though. He barely leaves this room.”

            “We need to go,” you say suddenly. You don’t mean to, but you can’t talk about this anymore. You can’t talk about this cat that has no sense of touch that Mizuki rescued and cares for. You especially can’t talk about that here, in Mizuki’s bedroom. Where Mizuki sleeps peacefully and you fantasize like a fucking creep.

            “Oh,” Mizuki says, standing up and nudging the food bowl toward Sake. “Okay. Sorry.”

            He turns to you and suddenly you’re brought back to reality: he’s in the same dark red shirt as your first date, but he has a black tie and vest over it. He has black slacks on just like yours and you finally take him in for the first time and you suddenly can’t feel in your legs, either.

            “You look great,” you say.

            Mizuki smiles.

            “Should we go?”

            “Sorry,” you tell him. “We don’t have to. I just – got sad. Poor cat.”

            “Oh,” Mizuki smiles. “Yeah, I know. But he’s fine now. I nursed him back to health.”

            You’d ask if he was wearing a nurse’s uniform when he did it too, but you can’t think about anything other than how gently Mizuki might touch if you told him what you and Sake have in common.

            He marvels at the car and takes a picture of you backing out of the spot with his Coil, even though you yell at him not to, but at least you definitely know that you look as good as he does when you’re driving. He says the only thing better than driving is being chauffeured around. You’d drive him anywhere, anytime, at the drop of a hat, if he asked.

            When you near Platinum Jail, he gets a little weary. He asks where you’re going and when you tell him he groans. You didn’t really think about his history with the island and Toue, so you apologize.

            “I didn’t think this through. Should we go somewhere else?”

            “No,” he tells you. “I know, they’re trying to make it inclusive. I just – it’s hard.”

            You nod but don’t say anything else. You feel really bad. It hadn’t even occurred to you that he has memories of a political past that you don’t. You vow to yourself to make his night comfortable and at the first sign of distress, you’re out.

            But the minute he sees the restaurant, his tone changes. The minute he sees the _table_ , he’s hooked. You got a table outside on the porch, and the weather is perfect. It’s dark by the time your wine arrives and the lights on the streets and the buildings around you light everything up so warmly that Mizuki looks even more beautiful than usual. You tell him to get whatever he wants, even if it’s the most expensive thing on the menu – in fact, _especially_ order the most expensive thing on the menu. Please.

            “Oh, Mr. Fancy over here,” he says, his gaze drifting from you to the menu. “Love showing off your money?”

            “No,” you shrug. “I just – I’m good for it.”

            “Apparently,” he mutters. “You save up for this date?”

            “No,” you tell him. “I told you. There’s a lot of money in programming.”

            “Uh-huh,” he says, almost to himself, and then it’s quiet until you both order.

            He gets the most expensive thing on the menu.

            “So,” he says, swinging around in his chair and putting one foot over his opposite knee. He leans forward on his elbow and smiles at you. “This is a nice place.”

            “It was just the nicest place I could find,” you tell him. “I wanted to take you the nicest place on the island.”

            “I like it,” he says quietly, as if he has to admit to it. He’s still smiling as he puts his chin in his hand and stares at you. “You look really nice.”

            “Thanks,” you say, adjusting your tie. “I never would have pegged you for a vest kind of guy.”

            “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think, then,” he grins. You grin back.

            “Alright. Then tell me.”

            He leans back and drapes a hand around his chair with a smirk. He takes a small breath as he thinks about it. You wait patiently.

            “I don’t know what to tell you.”

            “Come on,” you scoff. You’d suggest something, but all the ideas that are coming to you right now are questions about his family, his childhood, his aspirations, and those are all things that you don’t want to have to talk about yourself.

            Then it occurs to you that he’s avoiding those subjects too.

            And then you want to ask. You want to ask why the obvious subjects aren’t being breached. You imagine the only reason he hasn’t thought to bring them up right away is because his answers wouldn’t be any different from yours.

            You sigh.

            You want to be with Mizuki. You want this to extend past three dates. You want to be in a relationship with Mizuki. You’re in this. So you take a deep breath and commit:

            “What about your family?”

            You were right. His lips thin and he rolls his eyes as he nods his head violently to the side.

            “What _about_ my family?”

            “What about – your _family_?” you repeat. You don’t know how to ask in any other way, so you come right out with it: “It feels like the most obvious subject but you don’t seem to want to talk about it.”

            “That’s because I don’t have a family,” he says briskly. You furrow your brows.

            “What do you mean you don’t have a family?”

            “I don’t know my family anymore.”

            “Like – your parents or everyone? Do you have – ”

            “No,” he cuts you off. “I don’t have anyone.”

            You watch him for a few seconds. He won’t meet your eyes.

            “I wouldn’t want to talk about that either,” you finally say. “Sorry.”

            He softens. Shrugging, he sits forward and reaches out for your hand.

            “It’s okay,” he says. “I just never brought it up because I don’t have anything to say about it. I don’t have any blood family so I don’t have anything to bring up.”

            You nod.

            “You have non-blood family?”

            He takes his hand back and looks away again.

            “I try not to think of it that way anymore,” he mutters. “It gets me into trouble.”

            “I don’t know what you mean by that,” you tell him quickly. “You don’t have to explain, I just… if I’m supposed to understand something, I don’t.”

            You almost wince as you admit it, but you figure it’s better to be honest. You don’t want to end up on the floor of your apartment with Virus spooning cum out of your mouth again, unwilling to admit you don’t understand what’s going on.

            “You’re not supposed to get it,” he says. “I just meant – I try not to think of my friends as family anymore. I try not to think of – any – group of people – that could resemble family – as a family anymore,” he says slowly and you pull your head back when it finally clicks. Dry Juice. You don’t understand entirely, but your eyes flicker to the black bars on his throat. You got so used to them that you forgot they were there. That’s when you notice the collar of his shirt is pulled up tightly, and you think he might be trying to cover it up. You want so badly to say something but nothing has prepared you for this sort of thing, so you just stare at his neck. He catches on and rubs at his skin so you look away.

            “Sorry,” you mumble.

            “What about you?” he asks, changing subjects quickly. “What about your family? There must be some reason you didn’t bring it up before now, too.”

            Your lips refuse to part. You consider your words very carefully. You never really used to have a problem with the idea of telling someone. In fact, you always yearned for a day that you found someone you _could_ tell. But now that it’s here, it’s harder than you thought.

            “Um,” you cough. “I don’t really talk to – my family either.”

            Mizuki nods grimly. You want to hold his hand again, even if you can’t feel it.

            “You know them, though?” he asks. You don’t know what that means. You nod.

            “I know them,” you say. “Mom, Dad, little brother. I haven’t spoken to any of them in years.”

            “That’s too bad,” he says, though he doesn’t seem to mean it. He reaches for his wine glass and takes such a big sip that you pick up the bottle to refill it. He doesn’t wave you away. He just watches the liquid pour into the glass slowly.

            “Too bad,” you repeat.

            This is not exactly what you wanted from the best date ever with Mizuki.

            “So that’s why you don’t want to go back.”

            You look up at him.

            “What?”

            “Last time,” he says, “you said you didn’t want to go back to Germany after Rhyme dissolved. You said you didn’t love your home as much as I did. That’s why you don’t care to go back? Because your family is a bunch of shitheads?”

            “N-no,” you say quickly. “Not all of them. Just my parents.”

            “Oh,” he nods. “Your brother is alright then?”

            You stare at him until he cocks his head to the side in discomfort. Then you nod slowly.

            “My little brother,” you say slowly. “He’s – alright.” That’s all you can get out. Mizuki looks at you with a sad frown.

            “Why don’t you talk to him then?”

            “Too hard,” you shrug. This isn’t something you want to talk about. “Hey.”

            “What?”

            You lean forward.

            “I have a better place to go after dinner tonight than the field.”

            “Yeah?” Mizuki smiles. He looks relieved to be switching subjects. “Where?”

            “Paris.”

            Mizuki stares at you. Then he starts to grin slowly.

            “Paris… France?”

            “No, Paris, Midorijima,” you scoff. “Yes, Paris, France.”

            “You want to… go to Paris, France, like… in a few hours?”

            “Yeah,” you say, pulling out your Coil.

            “We can’t go to Paris,” Mizuki scoffs. You furrow your eyebrows.

            “Sure we can,” you say, pulling up a ticket site. “Look, two tickets. Paris. Hey, two hours, we could make that if we left now.”

            “Are you serious?” he asks. “We can’t go to Paris. I can’t afford to go to Paris.”

            “It’s my date,” you tell him. “I’m paying.”

            “For us to go to _Paris_?” He doesn’t seem to believe you. You show him that your finger is hovering over the _buy_ button.

            “Why not?”

            “Because that costs a fortune!” he cries.

            “It’s nothing. I want to take you.”

            “I don’t have time to go to Paris right now, Noiz!” he says. “That flight would take two days, by the time we adjusted to it there it wouldn’t even be worth it if we didn’t stay at least two weeks – I can’t leave my job like that. I can’t afford to leave my job for two weeks.”

            “I don’t understand,” you say. “It’s _my_ date. I can _pay_ for that.”

            “You can pay for me to live for two weeks of no business as part of your date?” he asks, his voice monotonous as he rolls his eyes at you. You shrug.

            “Yes.”

            “How?”

            “Mizuki, I can afford it.”

            “You know what, I don’t know how, but I don’t care. I don’t want that.”

            “Why not?”

            “Noiz!” he shouts, throwing his napkin on the table. He’s not angry. He’s just incredulous. This isn’t what you wanted and you don’t understand why he’s reacting like this. Maybe it’s a bit over-the-top for a second date. “That’s _too_ much.”

            “It’s not,” you urge him. “It’s really not. I just wanted to take you on a great date, Mizuki. I want it to be the best date you’ve ever been on. I want it to be spontaneous and romantic, please, let me take you on the best date you’ve ever been on.”

            “You already have, you fucking dumbass. You don’t have to spend a million dollars on me to take me on a nice date. Are you just trying to one-up me?”

            “No!” you shout, reaching across the table to take his hand. “No, I’m not! I don’t care about money, I just have a lot of – wait.”

            He doesn’t take his hand away as he looks up at you.

            “What?”

            “What do you mean, I already have?”

            “I already have what?”

            “No,” you shake your head. “ _You_ said, ‘You already have!’ Meaning _I_ already have. I already have what?”

            “You already _have_ taken me on the best date I’ve ever been on,” he says, his face softening just the slightest bit. “I could do with less waving of your wealth in my face, but…”

            “But?”

            “But this is the best date I’ve ever been on.”

            You take a deep breath.

            “How?”

            “Because I really wanted to go on a date with you.”

            You pause for a moment. You consider asking him to repeat himself but then it all comes rushing to you: _Paris? Really?_

“Fine,” you concede. “Okay, yes, Paris is a little ambitious.”

            “Ambitious,” Mizuki laughs.

            “Well, last time was my first date,” you whine. “And this is the first time I’ve ever taken someone _else_ on a date. I’m still figuring it out.”

            “Okay, well that would be my only critique so far,” he says. “For future dates, _don’t_ ask someone to go to Paris with you. Especially if they don’t already know you.”

            “Future dates?”

            “Yeah.”

            “You think I’m going to go on dates with other people?”

            Mizuki’s face falls awkwardly and he shifts in his chair. You said something wrong. You’ve been doing everything wrong tonight. You start to feel like it’s a miracle that Mizuki is even still here.

            “I’m sorry,” you mutter, looking down at your lap in embarrassment. This is going terribly. “I’m nervous and I don’t know what I’m saying.” You stand up. “Let me take you home.”

            “Whoa, what?” Mizuki seems confused as he sits back in his chair and looks up at you. You throw your napkin on the chair and can’t look at him.

            “I’m trying to be romantic but I don’t think it’s coming off that way,” you say. “I’m terrible at this. Let me just take you home. I don’t want you to have to deal with this.”

            “Sit down,” he says sternly. So sternly that you’re shocked, actually, and you finally look up at him. He’s looking at you the way your father used to after you’d come home with a bloody nose. It’s sort of terrifying. You sit down immediately.

            “Sorry.”

            “What’s wrong?” he asks, and that’s where his similarities to your father end. Your father would have never asked you what was wrong.

            “Nothing.”

            “The food isn’t even here yet,” he says softly. He smiles. “We can’t leave yet. Now tell me why you’re insecure.”

            “I’m not insecure.”

            “I know insecure when I see it,” he says, and leaves it at that. You sigh. What do you tell him? That you went into his tattoo parlor that night to rile up Koujaku, so that he might punch you, so that you might feel something? That sometimes you hook up with the two yakuza creeps who he hates the most, because they’re the only ones who will right you when you feel like the world’s been too kind? That sometimes you spend all this time with Mizuki, and you feel so good, like you’ve never felt before, and you feel like you might actually deserve to feel that good for once? That sometimes, with him, you don’t feel like a monster?

            If he doesn’t want to go to _Paris –_ and really, come on, what made you think that would be anything but overbearing and creepy? – he definitely isn’t going to want to hear any of that.

            “I just really wanted to take you on a good date. I’m sorry if I’m coming off as -- obsessed, or something.”

            Mizuki cocks his head to the side. That’s when the food comes, so you both have to take a few minutes to talk to the waiter and refill your wine. The waiter insists on waiting by the table as you both take your first bites and assure him it’s delicious. He refills your water too, before he finally leaves, and then it’s too awkward to repeat yourself. At least it _is_ delicious. You content yourself with uncomfortably silent eating, hoping that Mizuki hasn’t lost complete interest in you after this mess of a date.

            But eventually, Mizuki puts down his fork and leans back in his chair. He’s been doing that a lot all night, and you always stare at his shoulders and upper arms when he does it. Fuck, he looks good in that vest. You want to sit in his lap again, like you did the night of your last date. You doubt you’ll get that chance again.

            “You’re just trying to impress me,” he says suddenly. You meet his gaze.

            “I’m what?”

            “You’re trying to impress me and it’s coming off a little too obsessive,” he shrugs, his voice going shrill near the end. “It’s okay. I get it.”

            You are. You _are_ trying to impress him. But that’s not why you’re coming off as obsessive. You’re coming off as obsessive because you’re in love with him.

            It’s like you just realized that you’re in love with Mizuki.

            You smile.

            “You got me.”

            “Just relax, and don’t think of it as a date. We’ve hung out a ton of times before and I never needed you to impress me to want to hang out with you again. In fact, you impressed me just by being yourself. You don’t have to impress me with money and food and cars and Paris. Just calm down.”

            You can’t believe you never thought of that – well, of course you can, really. You never thought about the fact that Mizuki hung out with you anyway, regardless of what you had done for him, because you were too busy being confused by the fact that he was hanging out with you at all. You were too busy trying to figure out what his game was. You were too busy hating yourself for hurting him. You never really thought about _him._

            “Okay,” you say with a smile. “I’ll calm down.”

            A moment passes.

            “But you _were_ impressed by Paris, weren’t you?” you laugh and he throws a piece of lettuce at you.

            “Shut the fuck up.”

            You have a mini-food fight and spend the rest of the meal talking about Koujaku and Dry Juice and all the terrible movies you’ve watched together, laughing louder than you should be for a restaurant this fancy.

            After you pay the bill, you hand him the keys to the car.

            “You can start it,” you tell him. “I have to piss.”

            “That’s _so_ classy,” he says. He puts an arm around your shoulder suddenly and you’re shocked when he pulls you close and puts his lips to your ear. “I have to tell you a secret.”

            You don’t answer. You just stand there, waiting for the secret.

            “I’m _very_ tipsy,” he tells you. You laugh a bit until he also says, “I know we said three dates, but…”

            “But?”

            You turn to him, your heart racing. You’re in the doorway of the restaurant so you have to usher him back inside to get out of everyone else’s way. He stumbles a bit and you have to pull him up by the waist. When you try to pull your arm away after he’s balanced himself, he grabs your hand and puts it back. All the air gets caught in your throat.

            “ _But_ ,” he croons into your ear, “I was just thinking, that maybe you could come inside, when we get home, you know?”

            You swallow the lump of air down.

            “Let me go to the bathroom first,” you say. “Just go out to the car and wait for me there.”

            “Fine,” he pouts, pulling the keys out of his pocket and heading out the door. He seems completely able of body as you watch him walk toward the car, but you don’t think it would be such a good idea to sleep with him tonight, no matter how badly you want to. You sigh and make your way to the bathroom.

            It’s a single room, so you wait for the first person to come out and all you can think about is Mizuki’s tattoo. You want to trace it with your tongue, since it’s the only part of you that can feel. You want to taste Mizuki. But you also want to feel Mizuki inside you. You wonder if he would fuck you hard, how hard he even _could_ fuck you, considering he’s the gentlest person you’ve ever met. You flashback to the way he pet Sake earlier, and then the door opens so you head inside and mess with the handle to lock it and head to the urinal.

            You wonder what would happen if you slept with him tonight. Would you stay over? Would you get to wake up in the morning in his bed, with him right next to you? Would all your fantasies come true? Would you roll over to see Mizuki fast asleep, peaceful and beautiful and perfect? Would he bring you breakfast in bed? Even if it was a shitty breakfast? You’d love burnt rice and salmon from him in the morning. You’d take anything.

            Or would he kick you out once you were done?

            No, of course he wouldn’t… would he?

            He’s the one person you’re sure would not kick you out, but it’s hard to really believe. You don’t want to get too wrapped up in this.

            You wash your hands and remind yourself that in the end, it doesn’t matter. He’s drunk. And you can’t sleep with him if he’s drunk. There. That’s a pretty easy decision, once you remember there’s really no decision – you don’t take advantage of Mizuki. And he’s not sober enough for you to know he’s not just letting his body get the best of him. You smirk when you realize that in the end, however, he’s obviously attracted to you.

            The towels are too fancy and you throw the three you used to dry your hands in the trashcan and then reach for the door handle. You wouldn’t want to have sex with Mizuki if he’s not sober anyway, really. You want him completely coherent for –

            The door isn’t opening.

            You swallow hard and take a deep breath through your nose. You try the knob again.

            It’s not opening. It’s locked.

            You push it to the side to get it to click and unlock, but it doesn’t budge.

            Someone’s locked you in.

            You’re locked in here and it’s tiny and the lights are flickering and it smells terrible and you’re a fucking monster. You pull at the knob mercilessly but it still won’t open. You’re a disgrace to the family. You deserve to get locked in here like this. Mizuki’s going to go home without you and find someone else. Mizuki’s going to fall in love with fucking – Koujaku and get married and they’re going to adopt eighty kids and you’re still going to be locked in this fucking bathroom, because someone finally figured it out, someone finally realized this is where you belong. Locked up somewhere. Virus and Trip were right. Your father was right. Your mother was right. Everyone was right. Someone saved Mizuki from you; they’re a national fucking hero.

            You think you’re repeating Mizuki’s name over and over again when you hear a voice on the other side of the door.

            “It sticks! Pull it as slowly as you can to the left!”

            You stop. That can only be one person.

            “Emmerich?” you call. There’s a shuffling on the other side.

            “What?”

            You take your hands off the knob and wipe them on your slacks. You take a deep breath and try to think about Mizuki’s chest against your back in the field, when you sat in his lap. You grip the doorknob and turn it to the left slowly. The lock unlatches and you push the door open.

            You stare at the man on the other side. He’s tall and dark-skinned with black hair. He’s portly. He’s wearing a suit. That wasn’t Emmerich.

            “It’s a shitty lock, isn’t it?” he asks, taking the door from you and letting himself inside. “They really need to fix it.”

            He shuts the door and you’re left staring at the crowd of people who are watching you.

            That wasn’t your baby brother.

            You walk stone-faced to the car and get in the driver’s seat, completely stiff. Mizuki is curled up in the passenger seat, his feet under his body and he’s leaning to face you with a sly smile and heavy-lidded eyes. You stare at the wheel. The keys are in the ignition.

            “I think we should wait.”

            Silence. Mizuki lifts his head finally and straightens up.

            “What?”

            “You’re tipsy and the last time I tried to kiss you when you were tipsy – ”

            “I – no, Noiz,” he says, putting his feet on the ground and reaching toward you. “I’m not _too_ tipsy. I know what’s – I want to do this.”

            He tries to grab your arm but you flinch and pull it away. He makes a tiny sound from the tip of his lips and brings his hand back.

            “You said three dates,” you say. “I think we should wait for three dates.”

            You can’t look anywhere but the wheel. But he nods and leans back.

            “Of course,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be sorry,” you tell him, finally putting on your seatbelt and starting the car. “I’ve just always really wanted to do the thing where I get to kiss you at your doorstep and watch you go inside and long for you all night.”

            It’s silent. But you can tell Mizuki’s smiling the whole way home.

            Unfortunately, all you can think about is that bathroom.

            You get him home and pull into his parking lot and turn off the engine. He gets out and waits for you on his side of the car, where you rejoin him and put your arm out. He takes it in his and you walk him slowly up his sidewalk and to his front doorstep, where your heart starts racing wildly. You’re not sure why. You’ve kissed him before. And that’s all this is going to be. A kiss. It’s just a kiss. He leans his head down, against your shoulder as you walk slowly and you wish you could feel his hair tickling your cheek.

            “Here we are,” you say awkwardly, laughing the tiniest bit as he turns to face you, holding both your hands in his.

            “Here we are.”

            “Maybe I’ll come in next time.”

            “Yeah,” Mizuki nods. “Maybe next time, you will come in.”

            “I’m sorry it was so – weird at first,” you tell him, but he shakes his head.

            “Don’t,” he says. “I just said there would be a next time, didn’t I? So don’t apologize. You were fine.”

            You look up into his eyes. They’re a little bloodshot from the alcohol but he’s smiling so brightly that you don’t care if he’s drunk. You’re in love with him.

            “Mizuki.”

            “Yeah?”

            “One day I’m going to take you to Paris.”

            He looks taken aback. Not like he’s disturbed, but like he’s shocked. Maybe Paris is romantic after all.

            “One day,” you repeat, “when you’re comfortable with that.”

            Mizuki rolls his eyes.

            “Shut the fuck up,” he says, pulling you toward him by your waist and kissing you. He doesn’t use his tongue, but he pushes his lips into yours so forcefully that you think you might faint. He takes your bottom lip into his and pulls you so close that your hips bump into his and you have to wrap your arms around his back. It’s so gentle. You can feel it. Even though it’s _so gentle_.

            He pulls away and says goodnight and goes inside. You have to stand on his doorstep for a few more seconds before you find the strength in your legs to walk back to the car. Mizuki is the only thing you can think of as you drive home, and that’s really nothing new, but feeling comfortable with it is.

            You have one more date. You feel more prepared for this than ever. No aggressive shows of affection, no insistences that you follow it up with anything physical, no assuming that he’s just tugging you around. You think you’re actually smiling. You think you’re dreaming. You must be in a movie. One of those shitty American movies he makes you watch. He likes to berate them. He likes to tear them apart, tell you exactly what is and isn’t healthy of people to do to each other and the only time that you aren’t hanging on his every word is when you’re too distracted by how beautiful his lips are to listen. Then you remind yourself it’s important to listen and stop thinking about how badly you want to kiss him.

            When dates go well, people get into a relationship. That’s just what they do. Then they get married. Then they have kids. Then they grow old and die together. It’s all so overwhelming, so you focus on the relationship for right now. Calling someone your boyfriend – someone calling _you_ their boyfriend – it’s so scary but so exciting.

            You get home and trudge up to your own front door, still in love with the idea of Mizuki as your _boyfriend_. It’s just the term itself, looking over at Mizuki at the bar and telling someone, “That’s him, that’s my _boyfriend_ ,” and they would _have_ to be impressed that you landed someone that perfect. They would have to like _you_ , in fact, because someone as beautiful and good as Mizuki wouldn’t go for someone who was really all that terrible, right?

            You push your bangs out of your eyes as you get your Coil out and that’s when you hear a rustling. You stop immediately and reach into your pocket for the car key and put it between two fingers. You didn’t bring your brass knuckles or anything, and this is an expensive neighborhood. Violence doesn’t usually occur, but if you just caught some robbers in the act, they would probably have no issues equalizing you.

            Whoever it is, they’re by the steps near your door. You feel sort of cornered, so you’re about to call out, but then you don’t need to.

            “You look very nice,” comes the dull voice from the shadows. It’s like a fucking horror movie. Only you’re not very scared anymore.

            Then again, you can’t find your voice to reply.

            “Just getting home from another date with Mizuki?”

            The keys are still tight in your grip. You sneer.

            “Fuck off,” you tell them. “At least come out from the shadows, you fucking drama queens.”

            Virus and Trip finally emerge from the stairwell and you roll your eyes at them.

            “Did you?” Virus asks. You shake your head.

            “Did I what?”

            “Just get home from a date?”

            “Yeah,” you nod. “From fucking your mom.”

            “He didn’t invite you in for a coffee?” Trip asks. You can’t help but show your teeth like a wild fucking animal.

            “Are you fucking stalking us? Don’t fucking follow me, and don’t ever fucking say his name again.”

            “I’m just wondering,” Virus says, taking his glasses off and wiping them with his tie, “how good that feels?”

            “How good what feels?”

            “To know that someone wants to spend that much time with you!” he says cheerfully. Trip grins at you.

            “It feels fucking great,” you tell them. “Mizuki actually likes me and Mizuki isn’t a fucking perverted creep like you two.” You finally take the last step up to your door and take out your Coil key again. “So you can fuck off.”

            “Well that’s very nice,” Virus says. “So Mizuki knows all the things we know, correct?”

            You wish he didn’t have this power over you. You wish you weren’t curious. You wish you could just chalk it up to a couple of psychos who know exactly how to manipulate you. You know that’s all they are.

            But then you think about the bathroom. And you want to know what they mean.

            “What things?” Your voice is weaker than you expect. You’re staring at your front door.

            “Oh, just the things we’ve shared with each other,” Virus says. “How you’re selfish and childish and he must love you anyway. That’s so wonderful for you.”

            Mizuki doesn’t know any of that. In fact, Mizuki tried to explain away your own indiscretions _for_ you. He’s honestly the most selfless person you’ve ever met. He tried to make you feel better about being a terrible date, about being obsessive and weird and abrasive, and he still doesn’t realize that you put him in danger once. Danger with these two assholes. He doesn’t know because Koujaku never told him.

            Even Koujaku is a better person than you.

            “Well, anyway,” Virus says with a small clap of his hands. “We’re just so glad for you. You are a very interesting person, Noiz-san. We are very glad you found someone.”

            They start to leave. Good. Good, that’s what you want. You want them gone before you do something stupid.

            “Wait,” you call, still staring at your door. You hear their footsteps stop.

            “Yes?” Virus’s voice is light and expectant.

            “Do you want to come in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -are japanese rental cars under the same insurance policies as americans lmao  
> -making lots of futuristic tech assumptions  
> -very important: listen to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LlqkQRQSn40) and then at the end of the chapter, play that right into [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVwOzd95YSk) and then get really upset  
> -OH! secret canon: tipsy mizuki turned around and slid down the door, ripped his pants off and jerked off to the thought of noiz as soon as he left


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noiz will come to swear that this is the day he was the most scared in his entire life

            You feel nothing.

            When you let Virus and Trip inside, you feel absolutely nothing.

            You stare at the floor and loosen your tie; you let Trip close the door as you stand in the entryway, swaying just slightly back and forth as they enter your home. Your – dwelling. This isn’t your home. You don’t have a home.

            They clamor around as you stay in place. You think they’re in your kitchen, which isn’t really like them. There. That’s the first thing you think. That’s your first thought since the words came out of your mouth – _“Do you want to come in?” –_ and it’s about how out of character Virus and Trip are acting. Because you know Virus and Trip well enough to know when they’re being strange.

            Your second thought is of Mizuki. Your third thought is – is this cheating?

            Can you cheat on someone you’ve only been on two dates with? He’s not your boyfriend, so you guess this is fine. You’re not having sex with him, so it’s not like there’s any risk. But what is he doing right now?

            Probably nothing like this.

            He’s not having sex with other people, because he’s a decent person. Oh fuck, he’s more than decent and you both know that. You’ll never be half as good as Mizuki. It’s all such a farce. You finally kick off your shoes and lift your head to find them standing behind your couch.

            “Let’s get this over with.”

            Virus cocks his head.

            “Get what over with?”

            You blink slowly. Your eyelids are so heavy. And all you see when they’re closed is Mizuki.

            How do they do this? How do they draw you back in? They’re so fucking poisonous, in a way that Mizuki is not. Mizuki is like a good kind of poison – he’s addictive and you can’t get enough of him but you feel good even when he’s not around. Virus and Trip get you just as high as he does, but it’s a different kind of high. It’s a high that you crave when you’re at your lowest. It’s a high that you crave, apparently, at your highest, too.

            You were doing so well. You were on a date with the boy you’re in love with and maybe things had turned a little dicey at times, sure, but – you thought things went okay. But now you’re wondering if they really did. Maybe you were just fooling yourself. Maybe you knew, deep down, how badly you fucked up. That’s why you invited Virus and Trip in tonight.

            Or maybe they just call to you.

            You have no idea.

            “Please,” you say, your voice hoarser than you expect. “I can’t do this tonight.”

            “Can’t do what tonight?” Virus asks. Trip’s neck cranes upward as he peers down his nose at you. “If you’re too tired for guests, why did you invite us in?”

            “No,” you shake your head. “That’s fine. The sex – the sex is fine. I can’t do the mind fuck and the talking tonight. Just the sex.”

            “Is that all we are to you?” Virus asks and you immediately bite your bottom lip. You look up at him from below your eyebrows and you know you’re holding back tears, even if you can’t feel them sting your eyes. How did he know? How did he know exactly where to poke?

            “No,” you say quietly, and you _wish_ that were a lie. You _wish_ they were only sex to you, because then you wouldn’t have wanted them to come inside. They’d be so easy to get rid of, not because they won’t leave you alone, but because you won’t let them. If they didn’t provide that calming self-loathing… you wouldn’t care about them in the least. But they do. And that’s why they aren’t just sex to you.

            “But it looks like we have some competition,” Virus says, raising his shoulders. When you look up at him, he has a cheerful smile on his face. You’re so sleepy. You just want to go to bed. You’ll let them do whatever they want if they just make it quick.

            “Yeah,” Trip drawls. “How was your date with…”

            He cuts himself off. When you glare at him, he grins.

            “Fuck you.”

            “We actually don’t want to fuck you tonight, Noiz-san,” Virus says with a tip of his head. “We want to treat you. Just like Mizuki-san.”

            You stare at him.

            “What do you mean treat me just like Mizuki?”

            “Ah, I meant,” he chuckles, “we want to _treat_ you – to a nice night. Just like Mizuki-san did.”

            You feel stupid but you’re not sure why. That’s definitely _not_ how he worded that. And that’s not what you want from them. You don’t want them to _treat you to a nice night_ , you don’t _need_ that from them.

            Then again, you don’t _need_ it from anyone. You only _want_ it.

            From anyone.

            Mostly Mizuki, but… you think about sitting in his lap in the field, about taking his hand in yours, about kissing him at his front door. Your ideal world would be one where you and Mizuki do that every day, only with each other, and no one else. But you have never had an ideal world. And part of this fucked-up one is admitting that you might accept that sort of relationship from anyone, if only because you _want it so badly…_

            “Treat me?” you ask. “It’s almost three in the morning. How are you going to treat me to a night like Mizuki did?”

            “You don’t have food in your home?” Virus asks. “I know you have wine.”

            You smirk a bit. You really don’t have much food. Noodles and pasta and frozen pizza. A few frozen dinners, too. But not anything you could really make a meal out of. Not a romantic one, anyway.

            “Why don’t we just stick to wine?” you suggest. Trip grins.

            “I’ll get it,” he says, and then he’s gone, disappearing into your kitchen and you don’t know how you agreed to this. Virus starts to walk around the couch toward you, his arm outstretched and smile firm. He puts his arm around you and squeezes your shoulder.

            “I know this isn’t as fancy or romantic as what you just came from,” he says, “but we like to stay away from public places, anyway. I promise, however, we will show you a good time, even if it’s in your own apartment. We can show you parts of your own apartment you’ve never seen before, in fact. Or maybe, you’ll just see them in a new light.”

            He’s rambling as he walks you into the kitchen and there’s so much you could say that you simply stay quiet. Why do they stay away from public places? What made him think you’d want to be seen with them in public, anyway? Where would you even go at this time of night anyway? Is he going to show you another close-up view of some of your furniture, like the night Trip fucked you against your coffee table? Would he like to see the stains on your carpet, from cum you couldn’t bear to look at again, so you never cleaned up?

            And probably most importantly, exactly what kind of date are he and _Trip_ going to take you on in your own apartment?

            He leads you to your own dining table, where Trip is already uncorking a bottle of wine. He nods to you as you enter.

            “Glasses?”

            It takes you a second to comprehend. You’re already so curious and so wanting that you just nod.

            “Hold on.”

            You escape Virus’s grip and grab three wine glasses from a cabinet and bring them back to the table. You set them down near Trip, but it’s Virus who takes them and starts to pour the wine. It’s a red, and that’s about all you can pull from your extensive wine research now. It’s a red. It’s a red wine and you assume Trip must have some knowledge on alcohol and picked it for a reason, but it’s too dark to look like blood unless it was dried. Your chest heaves as you watch Virus pour it and Trip starts rearranging your chairs. He bumps you out of the way with his hip when he brings two of them over to your side of the table and lines three chairs up in a row. Oh, okay.

            “Here,” he says, puling out the middle one and gesturing toward it. “For you.”

            You swallow hard. It’s hard to pretend they’re Mizuki when there’s two of them. Maybe you can just pretend there are two Mizuki’s. The world would be better off if there were two Mizuki’s. You’d be willing to sacrifice yourself – and Virus and Trip – if it meant the world could have another one of him.

            “Why don’t – we sit on the couch, instead?” you offer. You don’t want to be on hard, uncomfortable chairs. You want to be on the couch. You want to be on something soft. You want to be able to feel the difference. You want to be with someone. You want to cuddle. You want to cuddle with Mizuki.

            “Whatever you like, Noiz-san,” Virus smiles.

            And then you get what you want. You’re on the soft couch, surrounded on either side by _people_ , whether they’re certifiably insane or not. Virus has his legs tangled in yours and Trip is simply gruff as usual, inexplicably tugging on your shirt and tie every now and then. You hardly react to either of them. You don’t know how you got here. Mizuki is probably tipsy and warm and asleep in his bed right now. Maybe he thought about you before he fell asleep. Probably not. But wouldn’t that be nice? To be the person someone else daydreams about before they fall asleep.

            Virus is every bit the cute date and you know it’s just an act, but you’re still incredibly disturbed by it. It might be worse if it _isn’t_ an act, but in any case, you don’t know what to do when he runs his fingers through your hair and then takes a sly sip of his wine, eyeing you over the rim as you stare at the floor. This isn’t exactly what you wanted, but you’ll take it.

            “So,” he says finally. “Date talk. What did you and Mizuki-san talk about on _your_ date?”

            You grit your teeth and glare at the wall.

            “How to murder two people who are bigger than you and get away with it.”

            Virus laughs. Trip even snorts a bit out his nose and you want to punch them.

            “That’s funny,” Virus tells you. “Look, we have a chemistry. Of course, we already knew that.”

            You really want to punch them.

            “Noiz,” Trip says suddenly. You raise your eyebrows, but never turn your head away from staring straight in front of you. “You look nice.”

            “Thanks,” you mutter as he pulls at your shirt again. You take another sip of wine.

            “Do you think we look nice?”

            You actually laugh. To be fair, Virus doesn’t look so bad. Neither of them is _un_ attractive. But Trip could do with some less nauseating clothes.

            “Sure,” you say.

            “So,” Virus says quickly, practically barreling right through your answer, “what do you want to talk about? Don’t you want us all to get to know each other? Isn’t that what people do on dates?”

            You think about Mizuki’s face when he told you he didn’t have any family. He was angry but there was a hint of something else – like he was crushed, _still_ crushed, that after all this time he still can only say he has no family. Like that will never change. You think about the bathroom. You think about Emmerich.

            You can’t answer Virus so he keeps talking.

            “Do you want to tell us a little bit about yourself?” he asks and you suddenly pick up on the tone of his voice. It’s changed. He’s not light and airy anymore. He’s not joking around. He’s deep and serious and you know this tone.

            “No,” you say quickly. But you sort of want to. You want to tell _anyone_ a little bit about yourself. It doesn’t even feel hard. You could tell them right now a little bit about your life, but you don’t want to because you want Mizuki to be the first one to hear it. You’d rather Koujaku be the first to know than Virus and Trip.

            “You don’t?” Virus asks, his lips closer to your ear than before. “You don’t want to tell us about anything? Your childhood? Your parents?”

            Your nostrils flare but your body stays still. You’re still staring at the wall.

            “Your hobbies?” he continues. “What you do for a living? Don’t you want to tell us about how you can’t feel?”

            You finally turn your head slowly to look at him.

            “How has that affected you?” The words practically trickle out of his mouth. You can hear Trip shifting heavily. “Hasn’t that been a – _hardship_ for you?”

            Your mouth opens slightly. All you can do is stare up at him. He watches you from behind his glasses, his lips thin, twisted slightly into some sort of pleased smirk. It’s completely silent. You don’t know how to answer. He’s got you. He’s got you where he wants you and you can’t escape.

            “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “Have I said something strange?”

            The Eiffel Tower flashes through your head.

            “I’m just very nervous,” he tells you in a steady tone that makes it quite obvious that he’s not. “First date nerves.”

            How did he know.

            You look down at the couch. It’s so quiet. You don’t know what else to do.

            “I don’t know why,” you say. Your voice is shaking.

            “You don’t know why what?” Virus implores.

            “Why I can’t feel.”

            He seems almost surprised. He tilts his head up sharply and raises his eyebrows, then nods slightly with a frown.

            “What can’t you feel?”

            His voice is neither airy nor serious now. It’s inquisitive. It’s curious. But not like a child is curious – not like Mio was when she asked why you were being so nice to her and her brothers. It’s like he’s a doctor. A doctor who is asking you clinical questions when you’re four years old because he’s trying to deduce something. It isn’t warm. It isn’t warm, like Mizuki saying he’s interested in you.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I wonder,” he says, “can you feel your glass in your hand?”

            “Enough,” you tell him.

            “How do you know if you’re holding it hard enough to keep a firm grip, but not so hard it breaks?”

            You shrug.

            “I can hold onto things,” you tell him. You really don’t know how to explain it. You didn’t know how to explain it to the doctors – when you were _four –_ either. “I just don’t know what it feels like.”

            “Hm,” Virus nods. He looks like he’s considering his next question, but Trip beats him to it.

            “You can feel teeth?” he asks. You take a deep breath.

            “If they’re in hard enough. Same with nails. Or knives.”

            “Knives?” Virus asks. He almost seems concerned.

            “Any kind of sharp blade,” you tell him. “The best way I’ve been able to describe it is it – it just feels like a… thick… film. On my skin.”

            “You can feel inside?” he asks. You roll your eyes.

            “I can taste. I can feel well enough when someone fucks me. I know when I’m hungry or thirsty. But I don’t know what it’s like to have a headache or a stomachache or feel nerves.”

            “Huh,” Virus nods. “That is… very interesting.”

            Trip pulls you back into his lap suddenly and you let out a small, surprised gasp. He nuzzles his head into your neck and you’d pull away if you weren’t so confused.

            “It’s okay,” he tells you. “This is a nice date. We won’t do anything you don’t want us to.”

            “We’ll _never_ do anything you don’t want us to,” Virus says. He reaches over for your hand and the two of them push and pull your body around until they’re situated exactly how they want: you sandwiched in their laps, your glass of wine almost empty and teetering in one hand as they _cuddle_ you. They have their legs spread over you, basically trapping you on their laps. They start snuggling their heads into your neck and leaving gentle kisses that they now understand you can’t actually feel.

            You suppose that’s the irony of the situation. They won’t ever do anything you don’t want them to do. That means you have to _admit_ you want them to hurt you. You have to ask for it. That wasn’t hard when you were convinced you deserved it. But now Mizuki has you double-guessing yourself. You know you want to be held, but you don’t know if you deserve it. You also don’t know if you care. You might take it even if you don’t.

            Trip nudges his nose against your jawline and you can’t take it anymore. You just want to get it over with.

            “Do you want to – go to my room?”

            “Right here is fine,” Virus coos.

            “We can get rougher there, though.”

            “We don’t want to get rough,” Trip says. “We always do that. We want to be soft tonight.”

            He pulls you further onto him and your ragdoll body can only acquiesce. He says he doesn’t want to get rough but that sure felt otherwise.

            “We like to just hang out with you, Noiz-san,” Virus says, leaning up on his knees and crawling over you. You furrow your brows at him but his words do hit you pretty hard. That’s what you wanted. You wanted someone who just liked to be with you.

            “So let’s just be with you tonight,” Trip finishes. Virus grins as he holds his wine glass off the side of the couch and rests his head on your chest. He curls around you and Trip and now you’re crammed between them even more. You’re cuddling. You’re actually cuddling on the couch with Virus and Trip.

            And you like it.

            You like that they want to be with you, even if they don’t, really. Even if they think you’re interesting for a different reason than Mizuki.

            “You must see the world very differently than everyone else,” Virus says. “You must have had a very different experience, growing up unable to feel.”

            “Yes,” you say automatically. You did. You did have a different experience.

            “A lot of things make sense about you now,” he continues. “Not everything. But some. You didn’t have a normal childhood, did you?”

            You expel all the air out your nose. That’s a sign that you’re about to cry. You don’t answer.

            “It’s okay,” Trip says into your ear. “We didn’t either.”

            You don’t tear up, but you do let out a strangled sob. Nothing about relating to Virus and Trip makes you feel good.

            But you like hearing it.

            “Isn’t it impressive then,” Virus sounds almost sleepy as he speaks now, “that you made it all this way? You live in a nice place, all alone, supporting yourself. That’s admirable.”

            You want him to say it again.

            “And two dates in one night,” Trip says. “Look how many people want you.”

            You swallow hard.

            “Yes,” Virus laughs. “Two dates and three people. What a stud.”

            “Praiseworthy,” Trip adds.

            “Very,” is the last thing Virus says before the three of you fall into a familiar silence. Virus rubs your hand soothingly and Trip’s fingers dance along your collarbone. You fall asleep not being able to feel any of it.

            You’re not sure what time it is when they get up and leave, but they turn your lights off and you don’t really give a shit if the door is locked or not. They shift you off them and you think they kiss you on the forehead before they say goodnight. You fall back onto the couch and sink into it, alone and blanket-less, and you realize that you started to think of them as quilts. The last thing you think of before you drift off again is how much better Mizuki would be as your security blanket, and how confused you are that you let this night happen.

            You spring awake when your Coil goes off from the coffee table in front of you.

            “Fucking shit,” you mutter to yourself. That scared the shit out of you. The clock on the wall says it’s almost five a.m. but you could have sworn it should be later. It’s still dark out. You reach for your Coil and pick up without looking at who it is.

            “What the fuck?” you say. You perk up when you hear sobbing on the other end.

            “Noiz?”

            You shoot up to stare at your Coil.

            “Mizuki?”

            “Noiz?” he calls.

            “What the fuck?” you shout, sliding off the couch and onto your knees. You shake your Coil, as if that will make Mizuki stop crying. Why is Mizuki crying? Holy shit. Holy shit, this is the scariest thing that’s ever happened to you. You have no idea what to do. “Mizuki, what the fuck? What the fuck, are you okay?”

            “I didn’t want to call Koujaku again,” he says breathlessly. “I always call Koujaku.”

            You don’t know what that means.

            “Don’t call Koujaku,” you shake your head. You don’t even mean that as an insult to Koujaku, you just don’t want Mizuki to hang up. “What’s wrong? You can talk to me.”

            “Will you come over?”

            “Yes. What’s wrong? I’ll come over. Are you okay, what’s wrong?”

            “I need someone.”

            “Yes,” you repeat. “I’m coming. What’s wrong?”

            He can’t speak over his attempts to breathe and you never thought you’d see Mizuki like this – his face is stained with tears and snot and he keeps rubbing the entire mess around with his hands. It’s dark where he is, and you think you recognize it as his room but you can’t be sure. You have never in your life been so scared. You haven’t even been more terrified by Virus and Trip, or –

            “Fuck,” you say. “Mizuki, what’s wrong? Is someone there?”

            It’s Virus and Trip. It must be. They got to him.

            “What? No, I – ”

            Mizuki looks around the room he’s in and then takes one deep breath. He lets out all the air and then stares at you through the Coil. He seems to take a more normal breath afterwards and then he looks confused, as if he was asleep and just suddenly woke up.

            “No, Noiz,” he shakes his head, “no, I’m sorry. I’m fine. I’m sorry I called you.”

            “Mizuki, no—”

            “I have to go.”

            “ _No!”_ you shout, pulling up on your knees and grabbing your Coil.

            “I’m fine, you don’t need to come over.”

            He disappears. And suddenly, sitting in Virus and Trip’s lap while they praised you was the easiest pill you’ve ever swallowed. That was nothing compared to this.

            You are terrified and you don’t know what to do.

            You call back, several times, but he won’t pick up. You pace your apartment, and turn all the lights on and then off while you think. You want to just leave and go over, but you’re not sure – is that bad? Should you trust him? You’re fairly sure that if anyone did this to their friend, it would be their prerogative to be worried. It feels _right_ to be worried. But you can’t be sure. You don’t know how this works. You have to remind yourself daily that you don’t know how to interact with people. You have to remind yourself daily of the conversation you had with Koujaku in the club, that there are _rules_ to being someone’s friend, and –

            Oh.

            You stop pacing and take a deep breath. You really don’t want to do this, but…

            It really doesn’t take that long to remind yourself that you should do it for Mizuki. You pick up your Coil again and dial Koujaku’s number.

            He is not happy to see you.

            “It is _five_ in the morning.”

            You furrow your brows. He’s shirtless and in bed but the lights are on and he doesn’t seem roused from sleep at all.

            “You’re awake.”

            “So?” he says. “I’m about to go to sleep.”

            The sheets ruffle around him. There’s someone in bed with him.

            “Ugh,” you curl your lip up. “Did you just have sex? Gross, am I calling you post-sex? Is this what it looks like to have sex with Koujaku?”

            “Bye.”

            He hangs up and you have to call back several times and leave a message that it’s important, and it’s about Mizuki and you think he’s in trouble before he calls you back.

            “If you’re fucking lying – ”

            “I’m not lying,” you tell him quickly. He’s dressed now and standing in the middle of his bedroom. You crane your head, as if that’ll give you a better angle of the room. You admit, you’re sort of curious.

            “Stop looking, they’re not here anymore.”

            “They?”

            “What?”

            “Not she?”

            Koujaku glares at you.

            “What. About. Mizuki?” he asks pointedly. You almost laugh, but then he says Mizuki’s name and you’re brought back to the reality of the situation.

            “I’m on my way to his house,” you tell him. “He called, he was sobbing, I think he’s in trouble.”

            “Wait,” he says, and you almost think he’s trying to calm you down. “Hold on. What did he look like?”

            “Sobbing!” you yell. “He was a mess, tears and snot and he asked me to come over but then he just – hung up and told me not to, it was like he was in a trance and then he just – snapped out of it.”

            Koujaku sighs and looks away for a moment. Then he looks back at you.

            “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ll go over there.”

            “No!” you shout. You’re fucking sick of everyone trying to stop you. That doesn’t really make any sense though, since the only other person who told you not to go was Mizuki himself. You’re frustrated. This is frustrating. Caring about people sucks.

            “It’s fine, trust me, I’ll go – ”

            “No!” you bellow. “He called _me!_ He wanted _me!_ He specifically said he didn’t want to call _you!”_

Koujaku looks away angrily.

            “He said that?”

            “Yes!” you shout. “Trust _me_. If someone needs to go over there, I’ll do it. I want to do it. I just don’t know how to get in.”

            He looks back at you. He’s mad. But it’s not the usual kind of rage he gets in his eye when you’ve riled him up; it’s more like he’s accepted something that he doesn’t want to. He’s frustrated, too.

            “I don’t know,” he says. You slam your fist against your wall.

            “No!” You want to cry. “You told me I had to think about someone other than myself if I wanted to be their friend! I’m trying to be his friend! You have to let me be his friend eventually!”

            It’s not until you taste the tear that you realize you actually _are_ crying.

            Koujaku softens. That’s something you never thought you’d see. You quickly wipe your eyes and now you’re just frustrated that you started crying in front of Koujaku.

            “Okay,” he says quietly. “Come by my place. I have an extra key. You can have it for tonight.”

            You mutter some sort of gratitude and sniff really hard before you hang up. You walk over to Koujaku’s place, hands stuffed in your pockets the whole time, only taking them out to wipe at your cheeks and make sure you’re not still crying. This whole thing is a mess and all you can do is worry that Mizuki is okay and that you don’t fuck him up more.

            Which is a laugh, because if you keep seeing him, there’s no way you won’t.

            Koujaku steps out onto his front step and hands you the key to Mizuki’s but pulls you back by your shoulder when you turn to walk away.

            “Wait.”

            “What the fuck _now_?” you ask desperately. You’re ready for some stupid show of emotions, but the look in his eye is so serious and foreign to you that you actually give pause. He looks angry – at _you_.

            “If you’re fucking around on Mizuki,” he says slowly, “I will honestly kill you.”

            “What the fuck does that mean?” you sneer.

            He stares at you, unflinching.

            “He is fragile. Do not bring bad things into his life. He’s had bad things happen to him. He does not need more.”

            Koujaku’s deep and formal tone throws you for a loop. He’s referencing something specific but you’re not sure what.

            “Is this about the thing with Trip still?” you ask. “I told you I was sorry for that.”

            “Are you?”

            You almost explode right there. You pull your shoulder out of his grip forcefully.

            “I _am_ ,” you tell him.

            “You understand what’s happening, don’t you?” he asks. “He’s still affected. By Morphine. He’s still having nightmares. He calls me up, all hours, and he’s a fucking wreck. He’s traumatized. He’s literally traumatized, by what happened to him.”

            You take a step back and regard Koujaku cautiously. That makes sense.

            “Go over there, hug him if he wants you to. Sit in bed with him, if he wants you to. Calm him down. Sometimes he wants to touch you to know that someone is actually there, sometimes the last thing he needs is for someone to touch him. Ask him what he wants and do whatever he says, unless it’s dangerous, though he’s never said anything worrisome like that. He’s always been coherent by the time I get there so he shouldn’t be difficult to talk to.”

            You always assumed Mizuki was fine. You admired him because he was so strong, to be able to deal so well, after something so terrifying. Somehow, knowing that he’s still dreaming about it makes him seem even stronger.

            “Okay,” you say quietly. You turn to go.

            “And,” Koujaku calls. You stop and let him speak: “It doesn’t matter what upsets him. I don’t care if he’s upset by your hair. If he doesn’t like it, put on a hat. If he doesn’t like your face, put a bag over it. Don’t do _anything_ that upsets him.”

            “I won’t.”

            “No,” he says again. “I mean at all. Stop. Doing anything. That upsets him.”

            You turn your head to the side and look at Koujaku’s feet. You think about the time Mizuki turned cold and dark in Black Needle when Virus and Trip came by. You think about sitting on their laps on the couch. Does Koujaku know – ?

            “Fine,” you say quickly. “Bye.”

            He doesn’t say anything as you walk away and the only thing you think about on your way to Mizuki’s house was how much you liked it when Virus and Trip said you were admirable. Praiseworthy, even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i almost made koujaku be fucking clear and noiz ask if he kept his gas mask on


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the night that noiz will come to cite as the ONLY REASON THOSE TEARS CAME OUT OKAY KOUJAKU SHUT UP YOU FUCKING PRICK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm here
> 
> i don't think there's any content warning here to tag beforehand but i feel it is necessary to remind readers that i'm not even halfway done with this fic ! which means... there is a LOT OF TIME for these characters to go through things and develop. please keep that in mind -- just because something is said or done now, doesn't mean this is their final opinion or whatever. hope that makes sense.
> 
> big thanks to [thunar](http://www.thunar.tumblr.com), for always talking to me about headcanons and being so so kind and letting me steal some said headcanons and being an all around amazing person; [edgie](http://www.rhymerib.tumblr.com) for always proofreading and being so excited and such a good friend that it motivates me to do what i love; and [corn](http://www.iamalsohere.tumblr.com) for being like. literally my fucking rock for the past month and a half and helping me get through the shit that was keeping me from writing.

            There is a duality within you as you make your way to Mizuki’s that night: part of you cannot be stopped by anything, part of you will hear of nothing but going to Mizuki’s and cradling him in your arms until he’s better. That part of you could be told that this night may result in you crying in front of Koujaku, and you would still go.

            The other part of you is terrified that you’re going to fuck up. 

            You wish you could relate to Mizuki’s panic attacks, but you can’t. You know what it’s like to be doubled up on the bathroom floor, your knees sore and your palms freezing from the tile. You know what it’s like to try to stop crying and find your breath. You know what it’s like to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and see the spit that connects your lips together as you part them to sob; how splotchy and red your skin has gotten just from bawling. But you usually at least get a good night’s sleep before that happens. Your nightmares don’t terrify you so badly that you wake up alone and fearing you’re in danger. You don’t wake up unable to recognize your own bedroom. You don’t call the first person that comes to your head in a cold sweat, babbling incoherently, just to come to and feel shameful and hang up.

            You know what it’s like to panic in a locked room but you don’t know what it’s like to be the most terrified when you’re out in the open.

            Until now, you had always found comfort in people you felt were just as fucked up as you. You suppose it was just nice to know that you weren’t alone. Maybe it was a minority, but you had small sea of people who were just as unlovable and monstrous, and that haunted them just as much as it did you. You quickly discovered you didn’t _want_ to know these people – they hurt you, really, just as much as your parents had, and but at least they were out there and at least they were like you.

            You didn’t like the idea that Mizuki was one of them.

            Mizuki was not fucked up. Mizuki was not like you. Mizuki could never be like you. You were born a monster; Mizuki had monsters thrust upon him. It’s that thought that makes you hesitate, that makes your fist waver against his door. You want to knock. You told Koujaku you would. You insisted that he let you come over here, but now you’re worried that your presence will only do more harm than good. You were worried about this from the beginning; that Mizuki knowing you would just bring him more pain and so far, you’ve been right.

            You lower your hand. You realize you’ve been tonguing at a cut on your bottom lip for the past half an hour now and you wonder when you got it. Probably when you were cuddling with Virus and Trip. You were probably biting at the skin on your lips as you played with your piercings and now it’s cut and you taste blood. You just went on a date with the most beautiful person you’ve ever known and now you’re standing outside his house with a bloody lip and a shameful memory of cuddling someone else – two someone else’s, at that.

            Mizuki cuddled you in the field below the stars. Mizuki wrapped his arms around you and you heard his breath in your ear as his chin stilled near your face and it felt so much better than Trip’s giant ankles digging into your side or Virus’s dry breath against your cheek. You catch the corner of your lips curling into a smile. Maybe Mizuki would like to cuddle.

            You knock.

            It’s silent for a few breathless moments until you hear a shuffling inside. It’s completely dark and you can’t make out anything, but you’re fairly sure Mizuki is headed for the door. You step away from the window, assuming that seeing a face looming in at him would only frighten him more, and kick the toe of your boot against the pavement below you as you wait.

            Then you realize it’s been quiet for a bit and you don’t know if he’s coming.

            You knock again.

            There’s a loud noise just behind the door and you realize Mizuki must be there. He’s too scared to open the door.

            You take a deep breath. You remember when opening doors was hard for you, too – it still is, sometimes, to hope that it will actually open. Even a door that slammed shut from the wind is too scary to reopen sometimes, and you stand there staring at the knob, terrified that if it’s locked, you might never get out this time.

            But Mizuki isn’t scared of that. Mizuki is scared that the door _will_ open. Mizuki is scared there is a monster on the other side.

            There is. It’s 178 centimeters, blond, and hoping he will cuddle with it tonight.

            “Mizuki,” you choke out softly. “It’s just me.”

            You don’t want to scare him. He’s like a baby deer and you’re a hunter trying to coax him into any sort of sense of security. You only go for the bucks; you would never hurt something as innocent as Mizuki. Not on purpose, anyway.

            “Mizuki,” you repeat. “You called me. It’s Noiz. Please let me in.”

            There’s not a sound in the world as you wait the next seven seconds to hear the lock click, and when you see the doorknob turn slowly, you let out all the air in your entire body. He opens the door a crack and peers from behind the frame for a moment before swinging it back fully and letting you in.

            His place is absolutely silent – not a single cat is mewing, not a single light is on. You don’t even know where the cats are. It feels eerie and empty and you imagine if you woke up to a place this creepy at night, you’d be pretty freaked out, too. You step to the side as he closes the door and the quiet becomes awkward as he locks it, then feels the lock three times over, as if to make absolutely sure it was really secure. You put your hands in your back pockets and stare at him. He, in turn, stares at the floor. You have absolutely no idea what to say.

            He’s wearing a gray t-shirt and sweatpants, as he usually does when he’s asleep or about to go to sleep, and you realize that you like him so much better in that than in the button up and vest from your date. It shocks you that your date with him was only hours ago. You wonder if you did something that triggered this. You wonder if you should be here – for the millionth time, you wonder if you really should be here, or if you’re making things worse. You don’t want to let go of Mizuki. But he’s the first person you’ve ever met who you’ve given any shit about comforting; he’s the first person you’ve ever met who actually seems to deserve that, and you are absolutely positive that leaving him alone would be better –

            “You shouldn’t have come,” he says hoarsely, and you’re pulled from your cyclical self-deprecations to be shocked by how he sounds. It’s like he’s screamed for days on end and that’s when you understand that he probably has been screaming. All alone, in this dark apartment, he’s been screaming.

            Then his words register and your initial feeling of sympathy turns into a sudden rage.

            _“Why_?” you spit. “Why doesn’t anyone think I should have come here?”

            You calm yourself immediately – you’re only proving your own point; Mizuki really doesn’t need someone like you right now.

            But he doesn’t seem fazed at all. He looks you in the eye and you can see that other than tired circles under his eyes, he doesn’t look that bad at all. He looks just as beautiful as always. Maybe if you were less in love with him, some sort of flaw would stand out to you, but as it is, nothing does. He’s beautiful.

            “I’m sorry I called,” he sighs. “It was just a nightmare.”

            “It’s okay,” you reply quietly, rolling your shoulders back and looking away. “I didn’t mean to sound angry. I’m just really glad you called.”

            “Were you asleep?”

            “No,” you lie with a shake of your head. He smiles the slightest bit and shoves a shoulder forward. Seeing him smile just then is enough for you to believe in God.

            “Liar.”

            “I don’t sleep much,” you tell him. “I – I called Koujaku. He was awake too. He gave me – a key.” You reach into your pocket and fish it out and dangle it in the space between the two of you. “Do you want it?”

            “Sure,” he says, reaching out and snatching it. Your heart breaks a little that he wants it back, and he seems to realize, because his eyes flutter away quickly as he looks back down to the floor. He puts it in his sweatpants pocket and mutters, “I – don’t have many copies.”

            “That’s fine,” you lie.

            It’s quiet again and you’re not really thinking anything other than that it sure would be nice to get some lights on. Then you wonder where the cats are too until it hits you that they’re probably outside. Mizuki probably shoves them out just as quickly as he does everyone else when he’s upset.

            “Do you wanna go sit down?” he asks suddenly, his fingers reaching up to rub the back of his neck. You watch them splay across his skin and press in hard.

            “Sure.”

            He leads you solemnly to the living room and sure enough, you see a hoard of cats wandering around his back porch. There’s food, and they seem happy enough so you leave it alone for the time being and take a seat next to him in discomfort on the loveseat.

            The awkwardness smacks you across the cheek when you realize you have no idea what to say now. Now that he isn’t sobbing and lost and a total wreck, you have no idea how to actually comfort him. He seems fine now and you don’t know what to do. He’s _not_ fine, but he seems it.

            You twirl your fingers together. He’s sitting forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands between them, laced together tightly as he stares at the floor, his eyebrows stitched tightly in worry. He doesn’t seem to realize how intense he looks. This feels so wrong, that the strongest person you’ve ever met is suddenly so weak and you feel like this can’t be real. You’ve only ever known Mizuki to laugh and flirt and occasionally rage – like when Virus and Trip showed up – but you’ve never seen him _weak_.

            It feels wrong. You have to do something.

            “Hey,” you finally say. His shoulder flinches and he leans back slowly to look at you.

            “Yeah?” he asks. You want to kiss him.

            “Are you okay?”

            It sounds so stupid out loud. He sighs but smiles a bit at the same time and you think it’s the first time you’ve seen him relax all night. His eyes dart away again and he stretches out an arm and you hear a loud _pop!_ in his shoulder.

            “Yeah,” he says gently. “It’s not as bad as it seems. But it does usually help me to get back to sleep to have someone around after…”

            “…After what?” you urge cautiously. You want to know. You want to know exactly what happens. You’re not sure that’s okay, but you want to know so badly.

            He laughs lightly. He still isn’t meeting your eyes.

            “It’s just nightmares,” he says. He’s still quiet, _so_ quiet, to the point that if one of the cats outside meow much louder, you wouldn’t be able to hear him.

            “Nightmares?” you ask. “Like, terrible ones?”

            “Not even that bad,” he shrugs, and you honestly don’t think he’s lying. “It’s scary for a little bit. But then I calm down.”

            You pause for a moment. You’re not entirely sure where to go from there, but you still have so many questions. You think they might be in bad taste. Then again, you wanted to take Mizuki to Paris earlier tonight, so maybe he’s come to expect that sort of shit from you.

            “What do you dream about?”

            You say it far more dramatically than you mean to, but he hardly reacts. In fact, he looks like he’s mulling it over. He tips his head to the side and sticks his bottom lip out and you want to attach to it immediately. He scratches his head and sighs again.

            “It’s never really that concrete,” he says. His voice sounds faraway but alive, like he’s accessing some part of his brain that no one else will ever be able to, and he has to focus on it especially hard in order to say anything. “It’s just the concept. Of things that happened. To me.”

            You sit forward, right on the tip of the couch and stare him down.

            “Like what?”

            He takes a long, deep breath but otherwise his face is unchanging. His eyes widen a bit but his gaze is fixed on the floor.

            “I dream of figures, mostly. I can’t move, but I want to. It’s just sleep paralysis. But the worst part is that I’m half-conscious. I kind of know I’m dreaming, but it doesn’t really matter, because if I keep my eyes open, I start to see things in the dark. I just shut my eyes and – Koujaku says he’s seen me try to scream but I can’t. I’m just. Stiff. On the bed. I can’t do anything. It’s like I tell myself it’s not really happening, but I don’t really trust it.”

            “You don’t trust yourself?”

            He nods. You sit back and run your hands through your hair. You catch a whiff of yourself – and you smell _just_ like Virus, like his fucking cologne or something, and you put your arms down immediately. You try to curl in on yourself as best you can, as if that will make the smell less obvious – as if Mizuki would notice in the first place.

            “Do the figures hurt you?”

            That’s when he finally turns to look you in the eye, and you think you may have crossed the line. But he doesn’t seem to react whatsoever. He simply stares you down, as if he’s trying to find the answer to something written on your face.

            “They did,” he tells you blankly. “In reality. And now they come back in dreams to try again.”

            Your throat closes when your heart leaps up into it. You want him to wrap his arms around you and then you want to die in them.

            “They won’t,” you assure him. “I won’t let them.”

            His lips curl into a smirk and you reel with insecurity. You meant that. Does he not believe you?

            “Was that supposed to be romantic?”

            You’re taken aback.

            “It was whatever you want it to be.”

            “Hm,” he says, his smirk broadening. “Well,” he shrugs eventually, sitting back in total, sudden comfort. “It’s more romantic than Paris.”

            “Shut up,” you scowl. You roll your eyes at him and at first love the fact that he’s finally smiling, even genuinely laughing, but then something snaps and you shake your head violently. “No, Mizuki, I’m serious. I came over here because I don’t want you to be hurt and upset. I was scared of what I saw on the Coil. I was so scared that I called _Koujaku_ , that should tell you something. And I’m here now and I’m not leaving, so just tell me what you need. What do you want me to do? Do you – hug? Do you hug? Hold ha – I can hold your hand? Cuddle? C-cat? Do you want another cat? I can catch a cat.” You struggle for things to ask; what is it people usually want when they’re upset? You’re pulling stuff out of your ass. You take a breath to ask yourself: what would _you_ want, more than anything?

            “Do you want – do you just want to talk? And I can listen?”

            Mizuki’s mouth is hanging open slightly; he’s absolutely shocked and to be honest, you are too. You didn’t mean to say _any_ of that, but it burst from you like a bomb and you squash down every single part of you that wishes you could take it back, because you sort of like to see Mizuki like this. Surprised by you. Almost in awe of you. That’s how you always feel around him: like you would never find a grander sight in the rest of your life, and now he’s staring at you like you just fucking walked on water.

            He closes his mouth eventually and hesitates. You know that look. You know exactly what’s going through his head. He wants to tell you, he _desperately_ wants to tell you _something_ , but he needs you to tell him it’s okay. He needs you to force it out of him.

            You don’t know how to do any of that.

            Just when you think you’re going to have to improvise, he speaks:

            “This really isn’t how I meant for our third date to go.”

            That makes you laugh. It’s a small huff through your nose, but you smile, and you think it’s because _this_ is the best date you’ve ever been on. You thought it was the other two, but no: you’d take Mizuki to every five-star restaurant in the entire world – you’d fly Mizuki to Paris at the drop of a hat, but nothing – _nothing_ – will ever compare to Mizuki calling _you_ when he needs somebody.

            “We can have a fourth date,” you tell him. Something tells you that you aren’t going to be having sex after this one, anyway.

            He falls silent again until you nudge him with your shoulder. He looks at you with a smile.

            “You know – Koujaku – usually…”

            “What?” you ask immediately. “Koujaku usually what?” You’ll do whatever Koujaku does. And you’ll do it ten times better. Plus you’re willing to bet you’d be happy to do things Koujaku would never do.

            “Koujaku usually lays in bed with me, until I fall asleep again. Nothing weird, he doesn’t cuddle or anything, but he… sits there with me and helps me fall asleep again.”

            Oh.

            You can’t do that.

            The image of Koujaku – _Koujaku_ – getting to sit in Mizuki’s bed with him fills you with fire. What does he do? Slide under the covers? Does he rub Mizuki’s back? Does he sit there like he’s Mizuki’s fucking mother or something, slipping his frameless glasses down his nose to check on his little boy? You roll your eyes. Fucking _Koujaku_.

            “I guess you – don’t want to do that?”

            Mizuki’s voice brings you back to him and you remember that you have to answer.

            But nothing is coming out.

            Your lips part, you breathe in, you shake your head slightly and stare at the floor, you want to say something, you really do, but you just – nothing comes out.

            “That’s okay,” Mizuki says finally, turning his head away. “I could tell you – ”

            “What about in here?” you ask.

            “In – here?”

            “Can I – lay with you – on the floor in here? Does it have to be your bed?”

            “Oh,” Mizuki says, cocking his head from side to side. Then he smiles and says, “Yeah – yeah, we can sleep in here. Let’s get the pillows out.”

            You both stand and he opens the whicker basket in the corner of the room that you know so well by now and tosses you pillow after pillow, and you don’t know if you should be arranging them in any specific way, so you simply plop them on the floor. He points at the quilt that hangs on the back of the couch and you reach for it, as he pulls out a second blanket from the bottom of the basket. He takes the few steps back to the middle of the room with you and the unease returns.

            He flings his arms up into the air and lets them fall gracelessly back to his sides and they slap against his thighs loudly. You’re still wearing your shoes and hat and you nudge the pillows with the toe of your boot. You don’t know how to lie down. You’ve suddenly lost all motor skills.

            “Oh!” Mizuki shouts. “You need – something to sleep in?”

            “I’m fine,” you say, reaching for the buttons of your shirt. “If you think you can resist me in my boxers all night.”

            “Oh,” Mizuki smiles, rolling his eyes. “I think I’ll be okay.”

            You get your button up off before Mizuki realizes how uncomfortable it is for him to be staring at you as you strip and turns away. He walks into the kitchen and by the time he comes back with two glasses of water, you’re down to your black t-shirt and green boxers and you’re a little embarrassed, but grateful for the drink. You both take a sip of water and place the glasses on the floor next to your blankets and then you stare at each other again.

            “So – ”

            “So…” Mizuki repeats. He nods a few times, swinging his arms back and forth and you’re about to make the first move when he finally shakes his head. “So, okay. Come on. Just get comfortable. However you want.”

            That’s how you end up on the floor of Mizuki’s living room, just like you always do, but this time it’s completely different. You aren’t here as the friend who just comes over to watch movies and then pass out on his floor. You aren’t here as the guy Mizuki felt sorry for and asked to hang out with him to make you feel better. You aren’t even here as the guy Mizuki went on a couple dates with, just to feel things out. You’re here as the person Mizuki thought of first to call, when Mizuki was scared and needy and not in the right mind – you’re here as the person Mizuki thought of when he wasn’t even Mizuki. This must be what it feels like to be Koujaku.

            He’s on his back, his blanket pulled up to his shoulders and his arms at his sides. You’re leaning against the couch, your body curled toward him and you watch him as he stares at the ceiling blankly. He’s still a little freaked out but his skin is fucking flawless.

            “Um, so,” he finally mumbles, his blanket pulled tight across him. “Tell me something.”

            “What?”

            “I mean, a story. Tell me a story.”

            You furrow your brows.

            “Tell you – a story?”

            “Distract me,” he huffs. “Tell me about your favorite song or a nice childhood memory.”

            He wants you to do this, and you have to comply. Whatever he wants, that’s what Koujaku said. And this is such a simple request. You rack your brain for some sort of lie to tell him, but then you get distracted by how light his eyes are, how big his irises are and how his hair frames them perfectly, even when it’s sweat-slicked and sticking to his skin. He’s so real right now, he’s not the Mizuki from Dry Juice, who folds his arms across his chest and smiles at everyone he knows; he’s the Mizuki who has nightmares and cries and he’s so fucking perfect.

            “My favorite song is the one that was on in the car when we were in the field,” you tell him. He smiles slightly. “The one about the stars. My only good childhood memory is when I left to come here.”

            “Come on,” he laughs. “You don’t have _any_ good childhood memories?”

            Unwelcome tears push at your eyes suddenly and you have to swallow hard to find the capacity to form words. You remember the bathroom from earlier tonight. The bathroom that wouldn’t open. The bathroom that Emmerich was not on the other side of.

            Mizuki. Mizuki is your best childhood memory, because you’re still a child.

            You’re conscious of the fact that you should not be bringing this up _now_ , not while you’re here to protect Mizuki, not while it’s Mizuki who needs to be distracted from the shitty things in the world, but he’s the one who let a fucking monster in his house.

            “I didn’t have one.”

            You choke it out and for the first time in ten minutes, Mizuki moves. His eyes flicker violently from the ceiling to your face and he sits up quickly, pulling himself from under his blanket to mimic your stance against the couch. He noticed the sob in your voice, and he looks _so fucking worried_ and you feel _so fucking terrible_ that you’re taking tonight away from him, but you can’t stop thinking about the restaurant bathroom –

            Then his face turns grave. His eyebrows go from questioning to demanding, and his lips thin out almost angrily. His entire body locks up as he puts his hand on your knee.

            “What do you mean?”

            You don’t answer. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his fingers tighten around you. You _can’t_ answer. You shouldn’t have said anything at all. You could have brushed it off if it hadn’t been for that _fucking bathroom._

“Noiz,” he repeats. “What’s wrong?”

            Is it okay to say it? You think you can bring the tears back in. You can make up some lie. Tell him that you’re scared for him and you started to cry. Tell him that you’re worried and you want to talk about _him_. Tell him all you meant was that you had a boring childhood, nothing really exciting happened. Tell him that.

            “They hated me.”

            That’s – not what you meant to say.

            “Who did?”

            Mizuki’s urgency spurs you on. You really don’t want to be saying this. Why are you saying this? It feels so good to be saying this. _Stop saying this._

“My parents. I fucked up and they hated it and they hated me and it’s not surprising and they locked me away.”

            Mizuki pulls back in alarm.

            “Locked you away, what the fuck does that mean?” He speaks so quickly, you can’t answer right away. “What did they do to you, what the _fuck_ does that mean?”

            You shake your head and grab the hand on your knee. The tears are gone but the words are spilling out in their place.

            “They locked me in a room – a nice room, a big room, but I was all alone, because I was a monster,” you rattle. Then you follow up with, “Do you think I’m a monster?”

            It’s a desperate plea for attention, but you need to hear it right now. Mizuki is too good to tell you the truth. He is too good to tell you yes, you are in fact a monster, and that’s what you want. You want him to lie to you. You want him to make you feel better.

            “No,” he breathes. Then he shifts up on his knees emphatically and wraps his arms around your head. He pulls you into his chest; into an admittedly awkward hug but the only hug you’ve ever needed your entire life. You don’t know how warm he is around you, but you put your arms around him too and you think he’s stroking your hair. You want to die here.

            “I am,” you assure him.

            “You’re _not_ ,” he argues, pulling away and staring you in the eyes as his grips either side of your face. “You came here to help me when I called you in the middle of the night. You’re not a _monster_ , Noiz.”

            You scoff at him. You couldn’t sit in bed with him. You saw him sobbing on the Coil that he thought people were out to get him and you come over to cry to him instead. Nothing about you isn’t monstrous.

            “It’s – selfish,” you say, and the word hits you. You hear it in Virus’s voice and then you clamp your eyes shut and turn away. He lets go of your face and leans back down.

            “What’s selfish?” he asks. His voice has turned soft and you let your eyes relax the slightest bit as you shake your head.

            “Me.”

            “No,” he says immediately. “Noiz, no, you’re not. I asked. And you were just honest. Like… incredibly honest. Like, I don’t know. Vulnerable. That’s not selfish.”

            Vulnerable. You were being vulnerable. Just like him.

            You open your eyes again and look back at Mizuki. He seems torn between sympathy and anger.

            “You look mad,” you tell him cautiously. He raises his eyebrows.

            “I’m not,” he assures you. “Not at you.”

            “But you are mad?”

            “Not at you,” he repeats.

            “Who are you mad at?”

            His lips pull tight. You’re going to stare at him until he tells you. You have to know.

            His shoulders heave before he states:

            “My parents.”

            It takes you a second – and then you remember. You remember what he said that night; that he has no family. He has no family to bring up. He doesn’t know them anymore. You hang your head for a second.

            “Why are you mad at your parents?”

            You look up slightly to meet his eyes. He can’t seem to decide if he’s angry or upset or annoyed; his lips and eyes keep changing.

            “My parents didn’t like me either.”

            You’ve been stabbed through the chest. This is what it actually feels like to have a blade in your skin.

            “What happened?” you ask quietly. You let him take several seconds to gather his thoughts. He doesn’t look at you.

            “I was an orphan. I don’t know them. My mother or father.” Orphan? Mizuki’s parents – abandoned him. There’s nothing you can do or say to express the rage in your stomach at people who would do that to Mizuki, especially a young, infant Mizuki, who you can only imagine was even _more_ innocent and beautiful, so you remain quiet. “I was adopted, by two… nice enough people… but they – gave up, too, eventually.”

            “Gave up?”

            “I guess they didn’t like me any more than my real parents did.”

            “That’s _bullshit_ ,” you spit. He regards you with surprise. You do too. More words that you didn’t mean to say, coming out of you tonight.

            “Well, it doesn’t matter. I didn’t need them. I took care of myself.”

            That’s the final nail through your heart and you shift onto your knees to face Mizuki. You keep your eyes towards the floor, but you reach out to grab his hands in yours.

            “I’m here to take care of you,” you tell him. “At least for tonight.”

            Mizuki smiles. His eyes are sad but he looks grateful. He strokes your hand with his fingers and leans on the side of his shin.

            “Noiz,” he says suddenly. “Why do you think you’re a monster?”

            His eyebrows are stitched ever so slightly, and his lips curl into a small frown. He looks up at you through his bangs and your breath hitches at how beautiful he is. You can’t answer him. You don’t want him to know. You _do_ want him to know, because he deserves to get away from you, but then – he’ll be gone.

            You open your mouth to say something, but all you do is breathe heavily, right onto his face. He winces and you’re embarrassed but then he cups your cheek in his hand and you can’t tell him. You can’t tell him that you can’t feel that. You can’t tell him that you couldn’t feel the sting of the alcohol the first time you were in this house, and you can’t tell him you couldn’t feel his arms when he held you in the field, and you can’t tell him that you can’t feel his hand on your cheek right now.

            You have never had a problem with the idea of people knowing about your condition. But now, in this moment, Mizuki can’t know. Mizuki can’t know that you’re a monster who might hurt him. You don’t want to hurt him. But you don’t want to lose him either. And you’re too fucking selfish to care.

            “Noiz?”

            “I just am,” you snap. You’re not angry, and he’s not offended, but you didn’t mean to sound so petulant. Your breath skips like a rock being thrown across a pond and he notices.

            “I shouldn’t have asked,” he shakes his head, taking his hand away. “I didn’t want to upset you, I’m sorry.”

            “I’m not upset,” you assure him. And you’re not – not by Mizuki, at least.

            “You are,” Mizuki nods, sitting up a bit. “I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know that whatever it is that you think, about yourself, about anyone, about us, or whatever… you’re not a monster. I want you to know that.”

            Silence.

            You stare at each other. Mizuki pulls himself all the way up against the couch and brings his knees to chest, wrapping his arms around them. He watches you sadly as his hair hangs in his face.

            He looks like a child.

            He has to know. Even if you lose him. You can’t allow him to be hurt by you.

            “I used to hurt people,” you say.

            His expression doesn’t waver.

            “A lot.”

            Still, he’s quiet.

            “I used to hurt people a lot, when I was a kid, and I didn’t know how I was doing it. So I kept doing it. I kept getting in trouble. The more trouble I got in, the angrier I got and the more I’d hurt people. I didn’t know how I was doing it. But I did it. And that was a liability to my family.”

            “So they locked you in a fucking room?” Mizuki interrupts, spitting venomously. He spreads his legs back out and lets his hands fall to the floor and you actually jump a bit when he moves, but then you nod solemnly. “Because you were a rowdy kid, what, when you hurt people they just, locked you up for what, a week? Longer?”

            “L-longer…” you stutter. Mizuki is so angry that you start to get nervous. Then you realize – he’s angry _for_ you. That makes your chest swell, but you remember that he doesn’t know the whole story, yet. Maybe if he knew about your condition he’d be more scared of you than angry for you.

            “ _Longer?_ Longer than a _week_? How long would they keep you away?”

            You can’t answer.

            “How long, Noiz?”

            You shake your head.

            “Mizuki, they – ” You try to think of a less dramatic way to say it, but you come up with nothing. There’s nothing that isn’t fucked up about it. “They just locked me away. Forever. Until I ran away… to come here.”

            He’s fucking incredulous. He can’t wrap his head around it.

            “How… long was that?” he asks. You don’t want to tell him. Not because it’s too painful for you, but because you think it might hurt _him_ too much. That’s wild. Mizuki’s upset – that you’re upset. No one has ever cared like that.

            “Years,” you say hoarsely. That’s all you can manage, and he seems to accept it. At least, he doesn’t seem to need more information than that, though accepting it might be the wrong term.

            He’s livid. You watch his hands balling into fists repeatedly, clenching and unclenching and his jaw pop in and out as he grits his teeth. He keeps moving against the carpet, like he’s trying to calm himself down and you aren’t scared of him at all. You love it. You love that he cares. You love that he’s upset that you were hurt. You have only seen someone other than Emmerich do this once before – and it was Mizuki, on the doorstep, when you told him about the people you had met when you first got here.

            “Are you okay?” you ask. You expect him to nod, or at least remain quiet, but he slams a fist against the floor and shakes his head.

            “I hate that I can’t fix that.”

            “Fix what?”

            “I hate that parents… can do that to their kids.”

            He’s angry for you, but he’s also angry for himself. He’s talking about his own parents. He’s talking about yours, but he’s talking about his own too.

            Fuck.

            He’s relating to you.

            You and Mizuki have something in common, other than the fact that you were both involved, somehow, with Platinum Jail. You and Mizuki feel the same way about something, and it’s not something obvious, like, “Toue was a shitlord,” or “cats are fucking adorable.” Mizuki can say something, can say this, can say, “My parents hurt me and I can not escape that,” and you can say, “ _I know.”_

            He can tell you when he’s hurt, when he’s thinking about his family, and you can understand. You can do the same. Holy shit, you can do the same. You can understand him and someone can understand you and this epiphany is staggering but you don’t really want Mizuki to know it’s happening. This isn’t probably quite as much a revelation to him. He’s probably found plenty of people like you in his life.

            “Y-yeah,” you choke out. “I hate that, too.”

            “I don’t know what to say,” he tells you, his voice a bit lighter. “I’m sorry. That’s terrible. You don’t deserve that. In any way.”

            You breathe out and clasp your fingernails into your palms.

            “Say that again.”

            “You don’t deserve that.”    

            He doesn’t skip a beat. This is already a routine he understands from you.

            He already understands you.

            “Again.”

            “You _don’t deserve that_.”

            “Again.”

            “ _Noiz, you don’t deserve that.”_

When he says it, you almost believe it. You probably would, if he knew everything, and still said that. If he knew you couldn’t feel. If he knew you could hurt him. You take a deep breath.

            “You don’t deserve that either,” you exhale. This has been the most exhausting night and you want nothing more than to breathe easy and watch Mizuki smile. You hate that you’re too selfish to tell him everything; you hate that you’re celebrating a relationship that doesn’t really even exist yet, that can’t exist until you stop being so self-centered that you can tell him –

            And then he hugs you.

            And then everything stops as you hug back.

            You’re both on your knees, leaning forward awkwardly, your hands wrapped around shoulders and arms and necks and he buries his face into you, inhales deeply and you think he’s trying not to cry; you recognize that breathing pattern at least, but he seems fine. He’s intimate, pressing his lips and cheeks against your skin as he keeps re-adjusting, scooting closer to you to get a better grip, and you keep letting him. You let him in, until he’s practically in your lap, and then he has his hand at the back of your head, creeping up into your hair and you bring your head back to look at him just as he paws at your inner thigh.

            “Do you want –?”

            You’re speechless. He’s red-eyed and you can’t. He’s vulnerable. _You’re_ vulnerable. But if you’re _both_ vulnerable, is it really taking advantage? You just want to be close to him. You want to kiss him. You want him inside of you. You’ve never wanted to be so close to someone that you wanted to fuck; sex was reserved for feeling something in the first place, not a reaction _to_ a feeling. This is new. This is bizarre. You want to, but you don’t think it’s right.

            “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

            “What –?”

            Mizuki is pulling away from you and that’s when you realize – he’d been palming your dick through your boxers but you couldn’t realize it, because you’d been lost in your thoughts. You didn’t realize it, because you couldn’t feel it.

            “I’m so sorry,” he shakes his head, and you have to reach up to grab his hand and pull him back down what he stands up.

            “Don’t,” you say. “Come back.”

            “I didn’t mean to… sorry, I – fuck.”

            “No,” you urge, pulling him down until he slides back onto the floor next to you.

            “You were talking about something important, I just… it’s been a weird night, I just wanted to, I don’t know, it felt like – ”

            He’s rambling, refusing to meet your eyes, scrambling his palms against the floor and you finally cover his mouth with your palm.

            “I can’t _feel_ it.”

            His eyes finally meet yours. Your hand is covering his mouth and if you weren’t terrified at what you just said, you’d be distracted by how adorable he looks right now.

            A few seconds of silence pass, so you take your hand off his mouth.

            He still doesn’t say anything.

            You start to bite on your bottom lip and quickly look away. Maybe he didn’t hear you. Maybe you can just kiss him and he’ll forget about it and you two can finally fuck.

            “Can’t feel what?”

            You sigh. Guess not.

            “I can’t… fuck,” you whisper. You’ve never told anyone you gave a shit about this before and you don’t know how to do it. It’s all catching up to you suddenly. “Uh…”

            Mizuki looks determined. He’s listening patiently. He’s waiting for you to say something. He wants you to say something. _You_ want to say something.

            And that’s when it hits you. Mizuki wants to know. Mizuki relates to you. Mizuki wants to know about you. Mizuki – is too perfect to hate you. This is _Mizuki._

            This isn’t hard at all.

            “I can’t feel your hand on me,” you finally – _finally –_ say.

            Mizuki frowns.

            “What?”

            “I have – a condition.”

            You take a breath in between words. It really isn’t hard, but you still don’t quite know how to word it.

            “What do you mean ‘a condition?’”

            Now Mizuki looks worried. And that makes you proud.

            “I can’t feel, Mizuki,” you finally let go. “I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel hot and I can’t feel cold… I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel things on my skin. I have no sense of touch.”

            Mizuki pulls his head up to regard you in confusion with big eyes and furrowed brows. He’s cute. He’s _so_ cute. No, you have something to tell him right now, you can’t get distracted by his face.

            “I was born with no sense of touch. I can taste, but I can’t feel. I can’t feel pain. I can’t… I can’t get in a fight like you do and know what it’s like. I don’t know what it’s like to feel the pain of a punch to the nose. I don’t know what it’s like to… I don’t know what it’s like to feel a cat’s fur. Or a hug. I can’t… feel when you hold me. In the field. Here. At all. I can’t feel that.”

            Mizuki’s face hardly changes, but somehow he’s pitying and confused and concerned all at once, and you know it’s going to take him a long time to understand what you’re saying.

            “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to get hard,” you conclude. “I just didn’t feel your hand. It wasn’t that I didn’t want it there. It was that I didn’t realize it was… you have to be a lot rougher with me.”

            “You can’t… feel _anything_?”

            “I can feel intense things, like blades, eventually. I can feel fingernails once they dig in, or teeth if they bite hard enough. It’s like a film covering my entire body. Eventually things can break through. But it’s hard. And usually by the time it’s enough for me to feel, it’s only painful. Nothing that is good can feel as strongly as things that are bad.”

            “So… what does that mean?”

            “Huh?”

            “Like… that’s… I’m just sort of – I’ve never heard of that. You can’t _feel?”_

You nod.

“I just… How do you live with that?”

            “Um,” you stop to think. You weren’t expecting that. You once told a random girl you’d met about it, and her immediate reaction was to bite you harder and harder until you could feel it, and you certainly understood why. She wasn’t mean or violent, she was just fascinated. You expected Mizuki to react like that, not ask about your life. “It’s not that big of a deal for me anymore. If I get injured, I might not feel it. I check my body every now and then to make sure there’s nothing wrong that I couldn’t feel already. It’s a bigger deal for… other people.”

            “Other people?”

            “For… people around me.”

            “How is that?”

            Here it is. You don’t want to say it. What if he leaves? You don’t think he’ll judge you; you aren’t scared anymore that he’ll call you a freak or a monster. You’re scared that he’ll leave. You’re scared because he’ll have every right to.

            “Because… I hurt people.”

            It takes a few seconds, and then you see it click. You see everything come together for him and his eyes widen in revelation.

            “That’s why?” he asks. “That’s why they locked you up? Because you hurt people because you didn’t know? Didn’t they give a shit that you couldn’t feel?”

            “They gave a shit,” you shrug. “But the doctors couldn’t figure it out. And they didn’t want me to give the family a bad name.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “My father owns a business. A really successful, famous business. And if his first born son was a violent freak, running around hurting other kids, that was going to reflect poorly on the business.”

            “So they decided that the best thing to do would be to lock you up, instead?”

            You shrug. That _is_ what happened. You’re shocked that the conversation became so casual, that you’re not crying and he’s not frustrated. That his questions are coming easy and his bewilderment is out of concern and not fascination. You didn’t know it would be this easy. Maybe it’s just Mizuki. Mizuki makes everything easy.

            You wonder when you’ll stop being surprised by that.

            “This is fucked up,” he says quietly and you nod. You put your hand on his again. “This is – just, hold on. You were _born_ … unable to _feel things_?”

            You nod again and almost smile. His recap is endearing.

            “And then… what, you hurt other kids? And they took you to doctors?”

            “And they couldn’t figure it out. And then one day I… broke my leg and that was it for them.” You hold up the fingers that you broke as a child that never healed the right way. “Broke these too, and they never healed.”

            “What the fuck,” he whispers. “I thought they were just… from a fight or something.”

            “Nope.”

            “Wait, so – you broke your _leg_ ,” he continues, “and they thought… ‘This is it, may as well lock him up?’”

            You cock your head slightly and shrug. That’s about the long and short of it.

            “Glad I could distract you tonight,” you say sarcastically. “What does Koujaku usually do, come over and rub your back?”

            “I’m sorry,” Mizuki replies. “It’s just – a lot. And it’s not anything I could have expected.”

            “I know,” you nod. “Don’t be sorry, I’m the one who came over and just…”

            “You’re _not_ selfish, Noiz,” he cuts you off. “It means a lot to me that you told me this stuff. This is really… heavy.”

            “Yeah…” you trail off, trying to think of a way to tell him that it means more that he made you _feel_ like you could tell him. You come up empty-handed and it falls silent again for a few moments.

            “Maybe we should sleep,” Mizuki says finally and you nod.

            “It’s been a weird night.”

            “Yeah.”

            You both lay down on your sides and face each other and simply stare without speaking a word until you both fall asleep. Mizuki goes first, and you watch his mouth finally drop open slowly as he starts to breathe heavily and just as quickly as the night had taken a turn for the crazy, everything is quiet and the sun is coming up and Mizuki is sleeping peacefully by your side.

            You fall asleep imagining what would have happened if you could have felt his hand on your dick.

            You wake up with morning wood, but Mizuki doesn’t notice.

            He makes you coffee and says he has to go, but invites you to Black Needle that night so you can plan your _real_ date number three, but you tell him that was it and the next one will be number four, so he agrees and kisses you lightly on the lips before you both part ways.

            When you get to Black Needle that night, you head right for the bar. Mizuki is staring at you from his seat, and you can’t wait to dump Koujaku’s drink on his head tonight, but you stop in your fucking tracks when you realize that Mizuki’s glaring, watching you like you’ve done something wrong.

            You cock your head but he stays seated for a few more seconds. When he finally stands up, you think the entire bar stops. He walks toward you slowly and you think he might punch you when he gets to you, and you look to Koujaku for any hint of what’s going on, but he’s just as confused as you. You take a deep breath as your heart starts to race when he stops in front of you.

            He hugs you. He hugs you in front of everyone. He squeezes you tight and firm and attaches to you. When you put an arm on his back and pat between his shoulders, he only clings tighter. You think he might be crying.

            “Mizuki, what’s wrong?” you ask quietly into his ear. “Everyone is watching.”

            “I just want to hug you,” he says.

            “Well – okay. Why?”

            “I just want to. I’m going to hug you tight enough for you to feel it.”

            Your heart skips a beat –

            You cry in front of Koujaku.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so you probably noticed it's been a while. i wanted to address some stuff:
> 
> i've been having some intense health issues. i decided to take a hiatus from my tumblr because it was really abetting my mental issues and it seemed the best course of action was to remove myself from the situation. i do not check that blog at the moment but rest assured i am fine and getting better, if you were worried! so... don't be worried c:
> 
> i can't promise with certainty that this will be updated weekly, even though i desperately want it to be. i am trying my hardest. and after the holidays things will get calmer, so it may update with more frequency but i'm so so sorry my weekly updating schedule fell through. i'm trying to be better about it !
> 
> i may stop responding to all comments, but please PLEASE know how much they mean to me. it's not because i don't care, it's honestly just to give myself some peace of mind. i read EVERYTHING. and you are all SO important and i thank you so much.
> 
> i hope everyone is healthy and happy and having a good holiday season/ anything else it is in your part of the world c: i am always thinking about the people who support me and i am always grateful that people care. thank you so much.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> noiz will come to think of this as the day that he finally got to live out his 13 year old self's fanfiction............ and he will never regret it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [a really great mizunoiz song i just discovered, in case u wanted some listening tunes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xq76aQRmbQA) i mean honestly this is already on repeat for me and it will NEVER be anything but mizunoiz for me

            There’s a sore in your mouth that you can’t stop tonguing at. You know that’s making it worse but you can’t help it. It’s the only pain you can feel, so you sort of revel in it.

            For about a week. And then it gets annoying.

            You tell Mizuki and he smiles at you pitifully. He tells you to gargle salt water and you gag at him. You tell him you’re not going to do that because salty things are the worst and he shrugs and then he steals a deep kiss from you in the corner of Black Needle that only lasts a few seconds but is so intense that it leaves you speechless.

            You try the salt water for a couple days and it helps. You knew it would. You don’t tell Mizuki.

            It’s only been two weeks since your impromptu third date – and the subsequent day in Black Needle when Mizuki hugged you and made you cry. There have been a few times that you tried to bring it up, but the air between you and Mizuki becomes so awkward and stilted that you can’t do it and you wish he’d mention it instead. It’s not that you don’t want the fourth date; it’s just that you have no idea how to breach the subject. It’s the elephant in the room and it simply sits there, staring at you both with a knowing grin on its face, waiting for one of you to _just fucking say something, just admit that you want to fuck and this is it, this is the date for sex, and just fucking admit it fuck fuck fuck –_

But you can’t tell Mizuki that, because you don’t want him to think you’re only in it for the sex.

            At this point, you’re dying to have him inside you, but only because you love him so much that you crave making him happy. You want him to come because of you, you want to come because of him, you finally, for the first time in your entire life, want to have sex with a certain person. You’re not just horny. Not just anyone will do. You want _Mizuki_. You want to have sex with _Mizuki._ And only Mizuki.

            You want to ride him. You want to sit in his lap and roll your hips against his as you let him fuck you. You want to wrap your arms around him and breathe in his scent as you hug his head against yours.

            You want to take him on your back. You want to sling your knees over his shoulders and watch him thrust into you. You want to hold his face in your hands and run your thumbs along his cheekbones as he grits his teeth in pleasure just from being inside you. You want your breath to mix with his as you both try to hold on as long as you can so that the moment never ends.

            You want to bend over for him. You want him to grip your hips and fuck you hard. You want him to pull your hair and dig his nails into your skin. You want to feel him. You want to feel him so bad. And for the first time in your life, you think you can trust someone. You can trust someone to fuck you hard and not hurt you. You can trust someone to fuck you hard because _you_ need it. Not because they want it.

            You want to turn onto your side to cuddle when you’ve both finished, when you’re both spent and laying flush against each other on the bed. You want to finally stay in his bedroom. You want to wake up in the morning to Mizuki. Not to Mizuki’s couch. Not to Mizuki’s floor. But to Mizuki. To Mizuki, next to you. To Mizuki’s sleeping body, to Mizuki’s eyes shut tight peacefully. You want him to wake up and smirk at you and turn you on your side and fuck you again, but this time slow and lazy while he peppers your skin with feather-light kisses.

            You won’t be able to feel them. But you’ll know they’re there.

            He’s kissed you a couple times, once after you refused to use salt water and then again when Koujaku left the room brusquely to accept an invitation to fight outside. Just before Mizuki followed behind him, he turned to you with a chaste smile and reached for your face, holding the bottom of your jaw in his hands gently – or what you imagine was gently – as he kissed you, long and slow. He kissed you like he’d been thinking about doing it for a while, like he was just waiting for the right moment alone. He took the first chance he could, while you two were standing in a room by yourselves, because he wanted this kiss to be just for you. This wasn’t something that anyone else needed to see. It was just for you.

            Of course, he was out the door with a sly grin before you could say anything. And now it’s been two weeks with no mention of a fourth date and you’re going to lose your mind.

            You’re at a bar with Mizuki when you think you might have the courage to bring it up finally – the courage or the waning sanity, you can’t tell which – but all his Dry Juice buddies are hanging around, throwing arms around each other and shoving more and more drinks into his hands. They’re shoving drinks into _your_ hands, too, but you have no problem setting them down and forgetting they exist. It’s not that you feel especially passionate one way or the other about drinking – you’re not even sure you’re entirely adverse to trying it at all – but you definitely don’t relish the idea of dulling your sensibilities even further in public around strangers. Even with Mizuki right next to you, you get a little worried. Especially because sometimes Mizuki has had one too many as well, and you want to be the one to take care of him.

            Tonight, however, he hasn’t had too many – at least, not yet – and you think you’re ready. You just have to try to get him alone.

            You rise from your seat across from him and stand at his side until he’s finished talking to his friend. When he turns to you, you smile.

            “Hey. Can we talk alone?”

            You weren’t expecting it to be so easy. You weren’t expecting him to follow you to the side alley and you weren’t expecting the words to fall so easily from your mouth ( _“I want the fourth date and if you do too, what are we waiting for?”)_ and you weren’t expecting him to agree so quickly and so fervently and you weren’t expecting him to smile and grab you and kiss you for a third time. It’s so cold out you can see your breath, so you hope you feel extremely warm to him. It doesn’t matter to you either way, but hopefully your arms wrapping around his waist this time – instead of hanging limply, _stupidly_ at your side in shock – comfort him some. You pull him closer to you until he’s crushed against your chest. You can’t help it. You’re just so happy.

            He doesn’t let it go much further, and though you wouldn’t mind if it did, you’re okay with that. He says he’ll see you tomorrow at his place and you’re left weightless in the alley like a love-struck puppy who just found a cardboard box to stay in for the night.

            Everything is so simple with Mizuki. Everything is so calm and easy and straightforward. You wear a t-shirt and a hoodie to his place, and panic at the last second that you should have dressed nicer, but when he opens the door, he’s also clad in a hoodie and you laugh at yourself for being worried. He smiles when you walk in and he kisses you on the cheek, all polite and proper, and you roll your eyes.

            It’s awkward, but an expected kind of awkward. A kind of awkward you’ve always wanted. It’s the awkward of a first date, except this is your fourth date. This is your fourth date and all you’ve done so far is kiss but Mizuki looks so good in his dark jeans and his Dry Juice hoodie. If you could just kiss him for more than five seconds tonight, you’d be happy. You can’t believe that you know intimate details of Virus and Trip’s bodies, but Mizuki’s remains mostly a mystery to you.

            You sit down at his kitchen and he hands you a bowl of noodles.

            “I thought this was romantic,” he says. “The first meal we ever ate together.”

            He sits down next to you and you both eat in relative silence, staring at each other with the daftest grins plastered on your faces.

            It’s relatively silent, that is, until you bite down on the sore in your mouth.

            “Fuck,” you mutter as you drop your fork. You reach to your jaw to massage it and Mizuki puts down his chopsticks in concern.

            “Is your mouth still bothering you?”

            “Yeah,” you scowl. “Fucking thing is killing me. I can’t even eat soft noodles.”

            “Let me see,” he says, shifting his weight to face you.

            You hesitate. You’re not sure it’s exactly romantic to give him such an explicit view of your disgusting mouth, but at the same time, you want him to take care of you. You want him to take care of you because you truly believe that he will. There is no doubt in your mind that if you show him the sore inside your mouth, he’ll know exactly what to do – or will make sure you find someone who does.

            You turn and open your mouth. Mizuki grips your chin and pulls your head back to get a better angle and you’re intensely embarrassed. You take care of yourself – you brush your teeth. You floss. You use mouthwash. You do it constantly, in fact. It’s your favorite routine, taking care of your mouth. It’s the one thing that brings you any sort of normalcy, so of course you want it to stay healthy. But something about Mizuki looking at a sore inside your mouth makes you self-conscious.

            You rip your head out of his grip.

            “You know, usually when I open my mouth this wide on a date, something is going inside of it,” you say with a smirk. You hope that distracts him enough – maybe it’ll turn him on enough, too.

            He rolls his eyes at you. You guess that didn’t work, then.

            “Maybe later,” he says quietly, his fingers gripping at your chin again. Your heart skips a beat.

            “Wait, really?”

            You’re wide-eyed. You knew you were probably going to hook up. But hearing confirmation – you just really, _really_ want Mizuki.

            “Just open your mouth, for fuck’s sake.”

            He’s trying to stifle a smile so you can tell he’s not annoyed, but you let it go all the same, mostly because you’re too excited to think of anything to say. You tilt your head back and open your mouth again for Mizuki to inspect. He checks the tops first but you point toward the bottom so he tilts your head down instead. He angles his own head to get a better look and then he lets out a chuckle.

            “Huh?” you ask awkwardly, your mouth dangling open.

            He lets go of you with a grin.

            “ _What?”_ you ask. “Am I supposed to be asking for a diagnosis? Are we playing doctor? You know, you can take my temperature the way doctors usually do.”

            “Which is through the _ear_? Not the _ass,_ ” he says incredulously, shutting you down. You smile. You knew he wouldn’t go for it.

            “Is it just a sore, then?” you ask. You hope beyond hope that it’s not fucking Herpes. Or that Mizuki would know if it was.

            “No,” he says, his smile widening.

            “Then what _is it?”_ you insist. You just want to know what to do to make the pain go away.

“Your wisdom teeth are coming in.”

            You pause.

            “…What?”

            “Your wisdom teeth.”

            “…My what?”

            “Your _wisdom teeth_ ,” Mizuki laughs, leaning forward in his chair and grabbing your hands. Your stomach flips over itself.

            “My _wisdom teeth_?” you repeat. “Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do about that?”

            Mizuki laughs again and tugs on your hands, but doesn’t let go.

            “You can go get them out, but it’s a big, long process. It’s not terrible, but you know. It’s like, anesthesia and recovery time and – whatever. Or you can just try to wait it out and sometimes they’ll just come in and won’t cause any problems. If they do, get them out. But if they don’t, avoid the hassle – unless the pain gets to be too much.”

            You nod at him and are weighing your options when a considerable change overcomes his face. His eyes widen and his mouth pops open.

            “Unless you can’t… handle that pain. Since it’s your… mouth. And you can…”

            You stare at him and wait for him to finish but he doesn’t. He seems distressed, like he has no idea how to approach this situation but desperately wants to. He still has a hold of your hands and you think that means he wants to comfort you, he just doesn’t know how. He doesn’t realize that he doesn’t need to comfort you about this. You’re used to this. You’ve never known any other way.

            You still stay silent as you wait to see what he’ll say. He licks his top lip and looks away for a moment before he shakes his head and takes a deep breath.

            “I don’t know,” he says, his voice quiet and faraway now. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

            You give a reassuring tug on his hands.

            “You don’t have to say anything,” you tell him. “It’s fine.”

            “It’s just – you told me that and I never really got to wrap my head around it,” he says quickly. “And now I’ve had time to really absorb it and… I don’t know. I feel like I have so many questions about it now but I can’t think of what they are.”

            You smirk at him. You know what that means.

            “You want to know how far you can go before I can feel it.”

            He frowns.

            “No, that’s not it.”

            “Sure,” you insist. “Here.”

            You take your hand back to roll up the sleeve of your hoodie and then thrust your arm into his face. You scoot your chair closer so that he has a better position on you, but he pulls his body away.

            “What? No, I don’t want to – touch you like that.”

            “What’s that mean?”

            “What are you telling me to do here?”

            “Dig your nails in. Or bite it. I’ll tell you when I can finally feel it.”

            “I don’t want to do that,” he shakes his head.

            “It’s _fine_ ,” you assure him. “Everyone I’ve ever told has been curious. They’ve all done this.”

            He looks you in the eye and you can tell he’s upset, but you can’t fathom why. You’re consenting to this. You’re asking him to do it. You don’t understand what’s wrong.

            “That’s why I don’t want to do it,” he says. “I don’t want to be like them.”

            Oh.

            You bring your bottom lip in to bite at it. Fuck. That’s what you want. You want someone who won’t treat you like everyone else did. This is what you’ve wanted.

            “Okay,” you say softly, scooting even closer. “Okay, look, just… you said you wanted to hug me until I could feel it, right?”

            “Don’t – come on,” he says feebly, pulling away again. “I was vulnerable too that night. Don’t use that against me.”

            “No, no!” you say loudly. “I mean – you said you wanted to hug me, right? Just grip my arm. Just grip, and just keep gripping until I tell you I can feel it. You’re not hurting me. I’m just trying to show you.”

            He studies you for a few seconds, as if he’s considering what you’re saying. You nod at him in encouragement and finally he sighs and wraps his fingers around your arm. They’re so long that they wrap around your entire width and you have to bite your lip again to keep yourself from staring at them and getting too distracted.

            “Fine, but I reserve the right to stop if I feel like you aren’t telling me that it hurts.”

            “I’ll tell you, I swear,” you say solemnly. “But – yeah, sure. That’s fair. Deal.”

            He sighs again.

            “Alright. What do you want me to do?”

            “Just grip – not as tight as you can, but just a little. And then keep going and I’ll tell you when I can finally feel it.”

            He still doesn’t seem too sure of this, but you’re glad he agreed. You want him to know. You want _someone_ to know who isn’t going to use it against you. He doesn’t realize how much this means to you. Maybe that would be a good thing to tell him –

            “There,” you say suddenly. Shit, Mizuki is strong. “I can feel it.”

            “There?” Mizuki assures.

            “Yeah,” you nod. “I can just feel it. If you do it tighter, it won’t hurt. If you do it – _much_ tighter, it might start to, but barely.”

            “Hm,” Mizuki hums to himself. His grip stays exactly the same and you’re in no pain whatsoever. This is not at all how it went when the girl bit you until you bled. “I guess that’s not so bad.”

            “It’s not,” you tell him. Then you meet his eyes and you both stare at each other awkwardly from beneath your respective bangs. He’s still holding onto you so you say, “…You can go harder.”

            You think you hear Mizuki’s breath hitch. His grip disappears.

            “I don’t want to hurt you.”

            You stamp your foot against the ground.

            “Don’t you understand?” you ask him desperately. “You _can’t_ hurt me, Mizuki.”

            “Just because you can’t feel it doesn’t mean it’s not _hurting_ you, Noiz.”

            You pull your head back in revelation. It’s the basis of your entire well-being: check yourself every so often because _you can’t feel pain_ so you _can’t know if you’re injured_. The entire point of your condition is that you can’t feel if something has harmed you. It’s the one principle you’ve grown up with knowing your whole life. But somehow, when Mizuki says it like that, it’s a revelation.

            You have to look away. Something rises in your throat that threatens tears. You really don’t want to cry right now.

            “Is that why you play Rhyme?”

            You’re taken off-guard by the question. You look back to him in confusion.

            “Huh?”

            “Rhyme,” Mizuki repeats, as if he’s just figured it out. “The point is that you can turn the pain sensors off, right? But you don’t do that, do you?”

            You don’t know how Mizuki knows anything about Rhyme, but that _is_ one of the basics, so it’s not surprising that he might know that. And he has. He has just figured it out. You nod.

            “Yeah,” you say. “I heard about it. In Germany. This game that you could feel virtual pain and I thought it was – I just. That’s when I decided I was going to come here no matter what.”

            “You came to Midorijima to feel pain?”

            You nod. Mizuki looks crushed. That kills you, because Mizuki is the one painless thing about this whole fucking island.

            “You know what’s funny?” you say without actually giving him a chance to answer. “They took me to doctors for… years. They did all sorts of tests and experiments. And I don’t remember much but I do remember that _every time_ , they would say, ‘This might hurt a little.’ And I know I was only four or so, but I _remember_ looking up at them and thinking, ‘ _Don’t we fucking hope so.’”_

Mizuki winces. Your heart sores.

            “And they never – had _any_ idea?” he asks.

            You shrug.

            “Some sort of nerve disorder. But they didn’t know what to do for me. So… you know the rest.”

            Now he shrugs.

            “I bet there’s more to it than you told me before, but I guess I know the gist,” he says. “If you need to… you can tell me more.”

            You roll your eyes. At this point, the only thing worth talking about is Emmerich. And you really, _really_ don’t want this night to turn into that.

            “No,” you shake your head. “Not right now.”

            “Okay,” he nods. “That’s fine.”

            That’s when it occurs to you:

            “…You didn’t tell me everything either, did you?”

            He’s staring at the floor when you say it, but he glances up to meet your eye line and he suddenly seems so dark and foreboding.

            “Maybe not,” he says. “But – you know the gist.”

            You sigh.

            “You can… talk to me, too… if you need to,” you tell him, and you wish it sounded more sincere, but you genuinely meant it. He seems to accept it with a very sudden nod and a smile.

            “I know,” he says. “It’s hard to open up. Isn’t it?”

            “Yes,” you answer immediately. “We could probably compete in it as a sport.”

            “Well,” he shrugs, leaning back in his chair more casually. Suddenly, the air is less stilted. “Koujaku would give us a run for our money.”

            You hate that his name gets brought up to ruin an otherwise perfectly nice date with Mizuki, but you also admittedly want to gossip.

            “What do you mean?”

            “He’s just tough to crack,” he tells you. “He was… really tough to talk to about… when you guys…”

            You stare at him dumbly.

            “When _we_?” you ask. “What happened?”

            “You know…”

            You shake your head. You have no idea what Mizuki is talking about.

            “I know…”

            “I mean, I didn’t mean to bring it up, but I… think about it.”

            “Mizuki, _what_ are you talking about?”

            “When you and Koujaku had sex?” he says suddenly, loudly, and the words shock you but then – you remember the dumpster. And then you laugh.

            “Holy shit!” you grin. “I forgot I did that.”

            “How do you _forget_ something like that?” Mizuki asks. “Koujaku was really fucked up about it. I had to talk to him for weeks. It was a really big deal for him.”

            You shrug.

            “Wasn’t a big deal for me, if you know what I mean.”

            “Noiz,” Mizuki says, and the severity of his voice stops you in your tracks. “How do you… forget about something like that? How do you forget about showing someone that side of you?”

            You weren’t expecting Mizuki to get so serious so fast. You try to lighten the mood again.

            “Which side, my dick or my ass?”

            “Noiz, stop. I’m serious. Talk to me.”

            That didn’t work.

            “I mean,” Mizuki continues, “I know that you and him don’t get along. And I know that sometimes people who don’t get along still have a sexual tension. I get that. I also know neither of you have serious feelings for each other, or else I never would have asked you out in the first place. You slept with him long before we had really developed any sort of serious relationship, so it’s… fine. And I know I put myself in the middle of you two. But… no matter how much I like _you_ , I’m always going to be Koujaku’s friend.”

            You swallow hard. Is this – is he breaking up with you? Before you’ve even done anything more than kiss? _Is he breaking up with you for Koujaku?_

“Koujaku and I… Koujaku was my friend before I ever knew _you_. We’re always going to have a bond. And it’s a bond that you really can’t be a part of… Do you know what I mean?”

            Mizuki and Koujaku have a relationship that you don’t get to know about. It seems fair, but for some reason, you hate thinking about it. You’re not jealous – you assume that if Mizuki were going to fuck Koujaku, he would have a long time ago. But you’re envious. You’re envious that maybe Mizuki _has_ told Koujaku everything. Koujaku doesn’t get the _gist_ of Mizuki. He gets the whole thing.

            “I know you’re going to have other friends,” you say, “but do you mean that you don’t ever want to – be as close to me as Koujaku?”

            “No!” he shouts quickly, and that immediately makes you feel a bit better. “Not at all. I just mean… My relationship with you _can’t_ be the same as my relationship with him.”

            “Ever?”

            “No,” he says firmly. “Because _our_ relationship with each other shouldn’t be defined by our relationships with _other_ people. It’s not contingent on other people existing in our lives. Our relationship… is just for us. You know?”

            You nod. You like that. That’s a good explanation. Mizuki and Koujaku can go drinking on a Saturday night, but it’s you that he’ll steal a kiss from the second you’re alone. That’s fine. You can deal with that.

            “Yeah,” you tell him. “Yeah, I get it.”

            “Of _course_ ,” Mizuki continues with a wry smile, “you have a _different_ advantage.”

            You perk up.

            “I do?”

            “Yeah, you know. The one where I’ve been out on three dates with you? Because I’m interested in you… romantically? Get it? I call it the ‘cute butt’ advantage?”

            You _really_ perk up.

            “You think I have a cute butt?”

            “Well,” he shrugs emphatically. “Cuter than _Koujaku’s.”_

“Ha-ha!” you shout. “I’m using that against him.”

            “I’m sure he’ll fight you on that,” Mizuki smiles.

            “Let him,” you say. “I’m better than him for once.”

            Mizuki rolls his eyes.

            “But that’s what I’m saying. He doesn’t care about that. He might care if I was someone he was trying to sleep with, but he doesn’t _care_ that _I_ think your butt is cuter than his. He’s probably very relieved. Because that’s not how our relationship is – mine and Koujaku’s. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

            “Well, I’ve had a ‘cute butt’ relationship with both of you now,” you say, before you really stop to consider your words. The conversation has been moving so fast that you didn’t realize how stupid that was, that even though Mizuki brought it up first, you really shouldn’t have reminded him. Fucking Koujaku in the garbage like that was just a desperate attempt at feeling something. You don’t know what it was for Koujaku, but if you’d had _any_ inkling that it might interfere with what came to be your relationship with Mizuki, you’d have never done it.

            You can’t figure out how to say that to Mizuki, though.

            “Yeah, well,” he mutters, folding his arms across his chest and looking away. “That’s what I’m saying. That’s why I brought it up in the first place. Because I’m… maybe… a little jealous… for the time in my life… of Koujaku’s sex life.”

            You accidentally stamp both your feet on the ground in shock and excitement.

            “You’re _jealous_?” you say, far louder than you intend to. “Of _Koujaku?_ Because he got to be with _me?”_

You’ve never felt this way before. This has never happened. You don’t know how to feel. You’re – ecstatic. Mizuki is jealous of Koujaku – his best friend, whom he’s _never_ envious of – because he wants you. _Mizuki wants you_.

            “Are you excited because you think you can use my emotions against me?” he asks. “Because I was open and honest with you and now you’re going to try to take advantage of me?”

            Oh.

            You sober up quite quickly. You notice that he doesn’t seem angry or upset. He seems to be asking you legitimately, as if he is honestly trying to gauge if that’s what you’re doing or not. Of course it’s not, but you don’t know how to say that either. You shake your head and stumble over your first few words.

            “I – I – Of course not, I – I didn’t even think of it that way. I just – come on,” you plead with him, losing all pretenses. You love him. You love him so much and you _know_ you can’t just _say_ that, so you say everything else instead: “I’m not trying to manipulate you, I just – I’m just going to be honest, just like you were. I want you. I want you _so_ bad, I like you _so_ much. Hearing that you might get jealous about me… I don’t know, hearing something that sort of implies you might be kind of interested in me… makes me feel so _good_.”

            You let your mouth gape open as you take a breath after you speak, and you watch him as his face turns from an indifferent sort of curiosity to – almost shocked amusement.

            “Noiz… what are you _talking_ about?” he says suddenly. You furrow your brows.

            “What do you mean?”

            “‘ _Kind of?’ ‘Might be?’ ‘Implies?’”_ he repeats your words back to you.

            “What?” you shout with a small, confused smile. You bring your shoulders up to your cheeks and stare at him.

            “Don’t you remember? I told you I had no problem with one-night stands. They’re fine if you’re both into it. If you’re just looking for sex. It’s fine to do that. You can just have sex and still respect each other. Remember? Remember I said that?”

            “Yes,” you roll your eyes. “I remember that.”

            “ _So_ … doesn’t it tell you anything that I didn’t _want_ that with you? Honestly, I thought we’d been over this. I don’t want to just fuck you. I wanted to know you. I am interested in you. I’m interested in… _being_ with you. For a long time. Not just one night.”

            The words sit on the surface at first – you did know that, yes. You realized that he wanted to date you first. That’s what this has all been about. Mizuki wanted to know you before he fucked you. You knew that.

            But then you start to think about the implications. What was the beginning of this? What was Mizuki’s jumping-off point? When did Mizuki first realize he wanted to get to know you? How could he have possibly known that you were with it?

            You have to know.

            You try not to let your voice crack when you speak:

            “Why?”

            Mizuki cocks his head to the side in confusion.

            “Why?” you repeat. “Please. Tell me why you want me.”

            Mizuki shifts up onto his knees on his chair and faces you. He takes your head in both his hands, just like you always imagined, and he looks you right in the eyes.

            “Because. You are good. You’re… _good_. With a capital ‘G.’ You are a good person and I wanted to be around you.”

            That sounds so foreign to you. That’s not a description of _you._ That’s somebody else.

            “I’m… not…”

            “You _are_ ,” he insists, shaking your head gently between his hands. “After everything that’s happened to me, I can only _afford_ to surround myself with goodness. And that means you. If it weren’t you, if you weren’t _good_ , I’d be a lot worse off right now. But ever since I got to know you, I’ve been _better_.”

            You let out a shuddering breath and give him a small smile.

            “You must be a lot dumber than I realized if you think I’m a good person.”

            “ _Hey_ ,” he says angrily, pinching your face lightly. You don’t feel it; you can only see his fingers close around your skin quickly. “Didn’t I tell you once that I hate being interrupted?”

            Your heart jumps to your throat.

            “…There’s more?”

            “Do you want the whole list or should I try to water it down a little for you? If I try to go through the whole thing we might never get to the part where we kiss.”

            You’re pretty sure your heart is in your mouth now.

            “We’re going to kiss?”

            “If you want to,” he nods and yes. You do. You really, _really_ want to. “But let me get through more of this list first. You’re intelligent –”

            You don’t hear his next for words for crying. You’re crying _immediately_ , even harder than you were at Black Needle when he hugged you. You’re crying and it’s loud and embarrassing and an enormous sob escapes your throat as you pull your head down, away from his grip, and he sits up off his seat and throws his arms around your neck. He touches his forehead to yours and everything is suddenly so rushed and fervent and you hold his waist in place.

            “Tell me to stop,” he says and you shake your head in shock. You don’t want him to _stop_. “Tell me to stop, and I will. If this is too much, I won’t say anymore –”

            “ _Please don’t stop talking!”_ you beg him between haggard breaths. “Please, just… don’t stop.”

“You’re intelligent,” he repeats immediately, and then he’s in your lap and you’re bawling against his ear and this has all gotten to be _so_ much _so_ quick, but then he’s scooping you up in his arms and you’re straddling his waist as he backs up against the wall.

            “Mizuki…”

            “Is it okay to go to the bedroom?”

            You can’t say anything through your weeping so you nod and he lets you down. You pull him by his hands and lead him to his own bed, which you fall into with him, your tears mixing with your saliva as they fall fast enough to reach your lips as he kisses you – finally, _really_ kisses you, with his eyes closed and his hands gripping your head and your bodies moving together perfectly. You both kick your shoes off immediately and he’s on top of you, his lips moving from yours to your neck, your collarbone, your throat; he scatters them all over you as you both fight to take each other’s clothes off first.

            “You’re so good, Noiz,” he mutters gutturally as his hands reach for the hem of your hoodie and pull it upward to remove it. “You’re intelligent. You’re smart. You came here, alone,” he breathes, finally getting the hoodie off after you lift your arms and he yanks it as fast as he can, “and you figured out how to live. You were young, so young, but you learned so much. You knew so much. You’re far more intelligent than you want people to know.”

            “No…” you cry, and then tug at the strings of his hoodie. Mizuki sits back and lifts onto his knees to take it off.

            “Yes,” he says. “And you’re not just intelligent. You’re clever too.”

            “Clever,” you repeat. You’ve never heard that word in relation to you before. You like it.

            “Yes, clever,” he nods. “You’re funny. You always make me laugh because you’re so clever. Don’t you know how hard it was for me to start laughing again? But you make me laugh for all the right reasons. You’re smart. You’re clever. You’re hilarious.”

            “Get your pants off,” you whisper. “I want you to fuck me.”

            “Get the lube,” he says, motioning toward his bedside table. “And the condoms.” You look over your shoulder immediately and reach to open the drawer.

            “You don’t have to use a condom,” you tell him.

            “Shut the fuck up,” he says. “We’re using a condom.”

            You don’t argue with him because you certainly don’t mind if he does and you _don’t_ want to ruin this. It all feels the same to you, so you let it go and grab the tube of lube and a condom.

            “Here – _oh_.”

            You turn back to hand him the lube but you’re rendered absolutely breathless when you see him:

            He’s straddling your thighs, completely bare-chested now, with his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, open just enough to show his boxers and you can see the bulge from his erection, but what you’re really focused on is his torso. His tattoo-covered shoulders and pecs, how _big_ his shoulders _really_ are when they’re uncovered, how _strong_ he looks as his muscles swell from his body, like little coils, wrapped inside his skin. He’s staring down at you, ready to pounce, and that’s when it strikes you: this is finally happening.

            You’re finally sleeping with Mizuki.

            “ _Fuck_ me,” you growl, and Mizuki’s laugh is feral as he leans down and wraps you up in his arms again, pulling you up to smother your lips with his. He wants you so bad, you can feel it in him, and you paw at his dick as he kisses you until he moans into your mouth and you smirk.

            “Get _your_ pants off,” he says, laying you back down gently and you both rush to remove the rest of your clothes.

            You’ve never been insecure about your body – not in this context, at least. You’ve never been unsure of yourself during sex, and even though this is the most comfortable you’ve ever _been_ during it, you find a strange sense of self-awareness. You actually care that you’re naked for once, that someone else is here and someone else can _see_ your nudity. It’s hardly ever occurred to you before, but right now, with Mizuki finally naked himself and hovering over you, it suddenly dawns on you that you’re both completely bared. You’re both completely vulnerable.

            You forget that he hasn’t seen you naked before.

            “Oh,” he says quietly, his eyebrows rising as he stares down at your dick. “It’s… pierced, too.”

            You revel at how enamored he is.

            “Yeah,” you nod. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll let you suck it one day.”

            “One day?” he asks. “I’ll suck it right now.”

            “No—”

            Mizuki is about to scoot back and lean down to take your dick in his mouth but he stops. For some reason, you really don’t want that. You want something specific. You want – you want him inside you. You wouldn’t have turned down a blowjob if that were all he was interested in. But he’s so close to being _in_ you and you don’t know, you don’t know why you’re reacting this way, you just don’t want there to be anything that suggests power. You don’t want to watch Mizuki’s head bob up and down as he tries to figure out how to please you best. You want to please Mizuki while he’s pleasing you. You just – want it to be equal.

            “No?”

            “I just… I want you inside me. I just… want that.”

            “Then I’ll give you that. You’re so good, Noiz,” he tells you yet again, his palms planted on the mattress on either side of you as he stares you down. “You deserve to get what you want.”

            You cock your head to the side. The tears finally lightened up. You don’t want them to start again.

            “You do too, Mizuki.”

            He smiles at you.

            “How… do you want to?”

            It takes you a second but then it clicks. How do you want to be fucked?

            “Whatever you want,” you say, your lips crooking upwards into another smirk. But he doesn’t seem to like that. He shakes his head.

            “No, I’m asking _you_ ,” he says. “How do _you_ want to do this?”

            The tears start to trickle down again without your consent.

            “Like this,” you breathe. “I want to face you.”

            You’ve hardly ever been taken on your back. You’ve hardly ever faced the person fucking you before and for the first time in your life, the word ‘ _fucking’_ seems too harsh. Mizuki isn’t fucking you. Mizuki could never fuck you. He’s not capable. He’s too… _good._

“Tell me,” he says, “if anything ever gets to be too much.”

            “I will.”

            “And… tell me if you… can’t…”

            Feel it.

            You nod and then his hands slip slowly down your legs. He pulls you downward a bit on the bed and slides his hands between your thighs.

            “Yeah?” he asks. You nod again.

            He spreads your legs apart slowly and reaches for the lube. You watch him coat one impossibly long finger in it and bring it down to your entrance.

            “Ready?”

            “ _Yes_ ,” you urge. Mizuki smiles. He leans down and kisses you one last time just before he pulls back and starts to push his finger in.

            It’s really, truly, _impossibly_ long. He seems to slide in for _hours_ , and although it is, as always, slightly dulled, you can still feel when it breaches the ring of muscle most people shove right through. You’ve never felt it so _intensely_ before – not this kind of intense, at least. It’s a pressure that builds slowly as he keeps going in further, and you close your eyes to catch your breath.

            “Okay?”

            “Perfect,” you shudder. You tangle your own fingers in the sheets below you as he twists around to get to the hilt faster and you can hear the squelching of the lube. You’re sort of embarrassed, but he doesn’t seem to notice whatsoever.

            “Another,” you tell him, and he pulls the first finger out only to come back with his second, and when he gets that one in all the way, he spends a long while pulling them in and out, making you writhe against the pillow.

            You didn’t realize you _could_ feel it like this. It’s still not entirely satisfying – there are certainly advantages to hard and rough sex – but it’s _different_ and since it’s inside of you, you have some sense of touch there no matter what. You look down at your cock and you’re shocked to see how much pre-come has leaked out without you realizing.

            “I want you so bad,” you say in a daze. “I’ve wanted you so bad for so long, Mizuki.”

            “I want you, too,” Mizuki tells you, his bangs covering his heavy-lidded eyes. He looks almost mysterious – maybe even sort of dangerous – like that. He’s aroused. He really does want you. _Someone wants you_. Someone went on four dates with you – and they _still_ want you.

            “Please… just fuck me,” you plead but he shakes his head.

            “No. You’re not ready yet.”

            You’re slamming your head against the pillow just a few minutes later, when Mizuki has all three fingers lubed up and inside of you, all three scissoring you open and pulling in and out so deftly that you remember he’s an artist – of course he’s good with his hands. You almost want this to be it. You almost want him not to do anything but _finger_ you, but then the image of him balanced above you as he fucks you pops into your mind and _that –_ that’s definitely what you want. A naked, muscled Mizuki, thrusting in and out of you, coming all over you. Coming because of you. You want that.

            “I’m ready now!” you shout, and suddenly Mizuki’s fingers are gone. You hear the tearing of the condom and watch him as he rolls it down his dick and that just excites you further. You still can’t believe you’re seeing him naked. His pelvic bones are cut so deep and his waist is so straight, but his ass juts out and you’re surprised you’ve never noticed how plump it is before. You make a mental note to make fun of his bubble butt later. His thighs are bigger than you thought, and you remember that he’s a Rib fighter – even if his body is naturally fairly straight, he’s going to have muscles from all that physical activity.

            He’s perfect. He was perfect before, but now it’s an undisputable fact. Mizuki is sexy and beautiful and perfect, and he’s all yours right now.

            “Are you ready?” he asks.

            “I’m ready,” you answer immediately. You’ve never been more ready. This is the most opened and prepared you’ve ever been for sex with another person and you just want him inside you so bad –

            It’s awkward at first, positioning yourselves right. But then you get your knees hooked over his shoulders, and when he first pushes in, you gasp. Going slower allows you more _time_ to register the sensations, and even if you’re not feeling it at full force, it’s the most _you’ve_ ever felt before. He gasps too, and you want to rip a hundred more from him before this is over.

            “All the way,” you tell him.

            “I’m getting there.”

            “Mizuki.”

            “What?”

            You grab his hands and pull him down toward your face. He falls forward and his dick drives further into you as a result. You both groan in pleasure, though he seems a little upset.

            “Don’t hurt yourself!” he shouts. You laugh.

            “ _All the way_ ,” you say again, and he’s close enough now that you can lean up to kiss him on the lips. You both close your eyes as and still your entire bodies for the few seconds that you kiss, your lips both pursing against each other, neither of you trying to fight to get inside the other’s mouth. It’s just a kiss. A pure kiss. A kiss as pure as Mizuki.

            And then he’s in all the way.

            He wraps his arms beneath you, each of his hands gripping your opposite shoulder tightly. You’re bent in half but it’s not at all humiliating, not like it is usually. Your knees are bouncing against your shoulders and his hands every time he thrusts into you, but you love it. It’s actually erotic for once – erotic and romantic because Mizuki can see every bit of you if he wants to, and you can see all of him.

            “Hey,” you tell him quietly. “I want to feel you.”

            “Can you not feel it?”

            “I can inside, but…”

            He frowns at you.

            “Dig your nails in.”

            He sighs and his hips pause for a moment. You wiggle your ass against his dick and he chokes.

            “ _Noiz_ ,” he mewls.

            “I’ll tell you if it hurts, I swear.”

            He doesn’t seem pleased, but he nods and his hips pick back up again as he apparently digs his nail into you. You can’t feel a thing.

            “Harder,” you breathe against his skin. He makes a noise from the back of his throat.

            “I – are you sure?”

            “Yes.”

            You can hardly tell if he’s even changed his grip.

            “Mizuki, _harder_ ,” you tell him. He makes another disgruntled sound.

            “I don’t – I don’t want to hurt you.”

            “It doesn’t _hurt_ ,” you try to convince him. “I just want to feel you… please.”

            You feel it.

            You throw your head back and sigh in pleasure.

            “Mizuki,” you say.

            “Huh? Too much?”

            “No,” you shake your head. His dick is thrusting in and out of your ass and his nails are digging deep into your skin. This is the best you have ever felt in your entire life. “You’re not hurting me. I don’t hurt. Because you’re not hurting me. I’m just _feeling_ you.”

            Mizuki seems to understand. He buries his head into the crook of your neck and you hear him sniffle. He might be crying now, too.

            “Noiz…”

            Neither of you speak another word as he fucks you, but every now and then you feel a slight nip at the thin skin on the side of your neck or on the cartilage of your ear and you yelp every time. It’s so good. You can feel him. You can finally feel Mizuki. He’s on top of you and you can feel him and you love him so much that you wish you could tell him, but you can’t. Not yet. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and you swear that he’s actually a part of you for a minute.

            The only sounds are his thighs against yours and the quiet, almost sad but vehement grunts he lets out next to your ear that would send a shiver down your spine if you were capable of feeling shivers. You moan unintelligibly and at some point start to cry again – you have waited for this for so long. _So_ long. And absolutely nothing about it is disappointing.

            Mizuki is perfect.

            “I’m close,” he murmurs into your neck. You nod against his face.

            “Come inside of me.”

            “No,” he says. “I want you to come first.”

            That’s easier said than done. It takes you a while to reach your orgasm due to your dulled senses –

            But he wants you to come first.

            No one has ever let you come first without trying to humiliate you.

            You immediately let go of his back and reach down to your dick, which has been untouched until now. You really let yourself go, clawing as deep as you can and pulling your piercings so tight that they scrape against your skin. You pinch them closed into your dick and then try to shift your ass so that Mizuki hits your prostate.

            “Hit me just right… and I’ll come… I’m close,” you ramble to him, and he intensifies, angling his dick so that it hits you every which way and even when he does hit your prostate, every thrust is so deliberate and pulls such a dirty moan from his throat that you feel your dick twitch at every move. You’re really close. You’re really –

            You feel it start and pull against the piercing on the tip of your dick _hard_ to solidify it, and then your orgasm wracks through your body just as slow as Mizuki’s fucked you. You’ve _never_ felt it like this before.

            You wonder if you’ve ever really felt it before at all.

            “Mizuki!” you shout, bringing your hand back to cling to his shoulders and he replaces your hand on your dick with his own, and he jerks you off, his fingers fumbling slightly against your piercings. You can tell that your body is shaking and your hips are thrusting up, causing your ass to swallow his dick even further and you haven’t even finished before you realize Mizuki is coming too. You’ve never finished at the same time as someone else – you’ve never rocked into another person’s body as you kiss them, your tears mixing with theirs and your lips open and shouting incoherent pleasures against each other. He nuzzles the side of his face against yours and you almost come again at the sight of him, now pushed up on his arms as you spring up toward him. You don’t know where you are anymore. You don’t know where you end and where Mizuki begins. And you’re not sure it really matters.

            You whine once you come down, sweaty and tired against the bed. You groan when he pulls out, but he does it slowly, so as not to startle you, and you’re too lost to the haze of having orgasmed with someone that you love to notice that he gets up to tie off the condom and throw it away. You take several deep breaths and stare out his window as you try to remember your own name. You’ve forgotten your name before during sex, but never because you’re so happy that it doesn’t matter.

            _Kristian._

“Fuck.”

            You don’t mean to say it. You don’t mean to think it, either. You don’t know how that word pops into your head. You were just thinking about your name and then –          

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing,” you say and you adamantly shove the thought out. You don’t know what Mizuki’s talking about. You didn’t just have a visceral reaction to somehow remembering a piece of information you thought you’d forgotten. You refuse to let anything ruin this moment.

            “Are you sure?” he asks, hiking a leg up onto the bed and crawling over to you. You nod and grab his cheeks to pull him in for a kiss. A post-coitus kiss. A kiss with Mizuki after the two of you had sex.

            You just had sex the way normal people do – loving and gentle and slow. And all you’ve ever wanted was to be normal.

            “What do you want to do now?” he asks.

            “Sleep,” you tell him. He chuckles.

            “Did I wear you out?”

            You roll your eyes.

            “Hardly,” you say. “But I know you’ll need a rest after all that.”

            “Oh?” he asks, pulling his boxers on and throwing you your own. “You think I’m down for the count that quickly?”

            You arch your back up to put your boxers back on and then turn to your side.

            “No,” you say. “I just think you really want to cuddle right now.”

            “You think _I_ want to cuddle?” he asks with a smirk.

            “Definitely,” you nod. “You want to be the big spoon. You want to hold me in your arms and lay your chin against my shoulder. You want to kiss me – even if I can’t feel it. You want to put your arm around my waist and hold my body against yours. Even if I wiggle my ass against you in our sleep and you get a boner. _Especially_ if I wiggle my ass against you in our sleep and you get a boner. You want to cuddle with me.”

            “Do I?” he asks, as he lays his body flush against yours, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing your hips back into him. He puts his chin against your shoulder. He kisses your bare skin. “And how do you know that?”

            “Because I want it, too.”

            You always imagined that if you got to cuddle with Mizuki in his bed, you’d be too excited to sleep. But it turns out that you’ve never slept better than when you’re pressed against his body. You’re out in seconds and you dream about a big, empty field. When you look up, there are only three stars in the sky, but they shine so bright they light up the entire island. Then a bird flies into your face and you jostle awake for a few seconds from the pain.

            Fucking wisdom teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yeah i give zero shits about their names being wim and theo (when it comes to my current fics, i mean). i've had them named for literally months so i'm not changing them LOL
> 
> SSSSOOOOO ANYWAYYYYY......... I HAVE A [TWITTER](http://twitter.com/truejaku)............. this will literally JUST be for updates on my writing. nothing personal goes here. but when i update a fic or post a new one, i will link from there. if i have any announcements for my original writing -- which i am planning out as we speak -- that is also where i will link it! if it's not about writing, it'll be about an idea relating to something i've written or a song or something -- that kinda thing.
> 
> also  
> they totally just had sex omg i just WROTE 9k of my otp having sex and I'M still having emotions i'm so glad for them


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> noiz would come to think of this day as the first time he ever realized that he was not better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i totally invented a word, see if you can spot it!! (spoiler alert, it's "unreactionary") and it now goes on my list of words i've invented because i'm a writer and i'm allowed to do that, which brings the list up to two. the other word was "wantingly." you are truly experiencing history being made

            This is so strange. You have waited your entire life to wake up next to someone in the morning. Post-coitus, you think it’s called. Or maybe that only applies to the moments immediately following coitus. You don’t know. Whatever, you don’t care. All you know is that you’ve always tried to deny that you were attracted to the intensely romantic notion of waking up next to someone who loved you, and now that it’s finally happening, it is so strange.

            And you were right. This is the best feeling in the world.

            Mizuki is still asleep, facing you, one hand under his cheek and his lips parted just slightly as he breathes heavily, slowly, peacefully. He has one of his quilts pulled around his shoulders. It must be cold in here. You wouldn’t know.

            You do know that it’s probably unnerving to stare at someone while they sleep, so you urge yourself to shut your eyes again, but every time you do, they spring back open, just to make sure you’re really here. You are. You are _really_ here. But you should stop staring at Mizuki. So you resolve to turn to your other side and back up against him. You want to cuddle some more, even if you can’t actually feel his warmth against you. You just want to know that he’s there. You want to know that he wants to cuddle with you, too.

            That’s when you shift your weight and feel –

            Lube.

            The one place that is semi-sensational other than your mouth is dripping lube. That’s uncomfortable. And probably messy. And really gross. And you are going to take a shower before Mizuki wakes up and realize you’re being gross all over his bed.

            You try to slide off the bed carefully, so as not to disturb Mizuki, but you can feel it sort of dripping down your leg. You must have been too caught up in the moment last night to notice it, or else you were a little numb from the sex and didn’t feel it. It’s not like you can feel completely inside your ass anyway, so it’s not surprising –

            After your first step on the carpet, there’s a tiny squeak and you freeze. You know that squeak.

            Oh.

            You turn your head slightly and see a bright orange cat on top of a cushion by the side of the bed.

            Did you and Mizuki fuck with a paralyzed cat sitting in the same room as you? You grimace.

            “Sh,” you say quickly to Sake as you scamper across the room to Mizuki’s bathroom. You shut the door as quietly as you can and then turn to his shower.

            It’s easy enough to turn on and you kick off your boxers and step in immediately. It might be too cold but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like you would know. You put your back to the spray and let it wash over your body to rinse you off and find yourself staring at the floor of the shower, thinking about everything that happened the night before. Mizuki was passionate. Far more passionate than you would have ever expected someone to become over _you,_ but here you are. He _wanted_ you and you could feel it. It had started to get embarrassing just how obviously you wanted him, and seeing that he returned the feelings – and was simply better at hiding it – was more than satisfying.

            Mizuki is tall and straight; his body hardly curves at all (not like yours and not like Aoba’s – not even really like Koujaku’s, who, you are unfortunately aware, is so fit that his muscles accentuate his form). But his stomach is flat with deep pelvic cuts and an obvious sheen of muscle across his abs. His pecs are firm and his upper arms are _huge_ when he flexes to hold you down and, of course, his shoulders are so broad and wide that you felt safe and hidden beneath them, just like you always thought you would. That’s what you always wanted. Someone to hold you in their arms. Like how you imagine Mink does to Aoba. Like how you imagine Koujaku does to the people he sleeps with in a bed as opposed to a dumpster. You remember the first time you hooked up with Virus and Trip, you were thinking about that: finding someone who might want to fuck you and then hold you afterwards, too.

            You don’t realize you’re smiling to yourself. Your first thought is that this is what it feels like to finally get something that you want. You’ve felt it before: the first time you felt a punch in Rhyme. That was great. You’ll never forget that moment, that first sting of knuckles colliding with your stomach, how it felt to double up and wheeze for the first time ever. But you have to admit that showering in your boyfriend’s bathroom for the first time ever is way better –

            Mizuki’s not your boyfriend. You bite your bottom lip. Is he? No. He’s not your boyfriend. That’s the sort of thing you both have to agree on. Then again, you did go on all three dates. In fact, you went on four. And he seemed more than ecstatic about the sex last night. He praised you for what felt like _hours_ , he went as slow as he could, as slow as you asked, and he didn’t kick you out afterwards. He protected you in his arms. He let you sleep in his bed. He let you wake up in his bed. He took your waking-up-post-coitus virginity. You think the concept of virginity is stupid anyway, but still – he was never scared off by how inexperienced you were. He was the one who made you feel like putting in the effort to connect with a human again, after all the times you failed at it before. He was the one who never realized how fucked up you are. He was the one who didn’t care if you were, at least. He was the one. Is he the one?

            No. The _one –_ that’s marriage. You’re certainly not looking to marry him. Or anyone, for that matter.

            …Not right now, at least. Of course, you always had the inkling in the back of your head that maybe, one day, possibly, you _might_ find someone.

            That always felt ridiculous to you before though, and it feels even more ridiculous to you now. Even if Mizuki wants to be your boyfriend, he doesn’t want to marry you right now. You shake your head to dislodge the thought from your mind.

            And Mizuki doesn’t want to be your boyfriend, either. Although – you _have_ thought about what it would be like. To have a boyfriend. To get to go to Dry Juice and not just get to say you _know_ the owner but that you get to _fuck_ the owner. The owner of this bar is in love with you, you’d tell everyone, so yes, you do have the authority to kick people out. No more Beni Shigure allowed, sorry. You don’t make the rules.

            You know Mizuki would never let that happen, but you grin to yourself thinking about the look on Koujaku’s face if you tried it.

            What else do couples do? You don’t really know. You suppose eventually you’d move in with him. You’d make dinner together every night and get drunk off wine – well, Mizuki would. Actually, Mizuki would get drunk off anything. You remember the days when you first met him, when you first tried drinking. You’re still underage, but you remember the amaretto and Cokes he made you. And you never had enough to really get drunk, so you suppose you never were much of a drinker. But Mizuki is, so maybe you should try it again. Something still makes you feel uneasy about how much Mizuki drinks. You remember the conversation you had with him about his high tolerance – the high tolerance that means he has to drink a _lot_ to get drunk, which means he drinks a lot in general to require more and more to feel it. You wonder if he’d stop if you asked.

            You wonder if he’d stop if he had a boyfriend who wanted him to.

            There’s a knock on the bathroom door. It’s loud and startles you so badly that you almost slip. You shake your head in embarrassment even though no one saw you. You were far too engrossed in the thought of being Mizuki’s boyfriend. That can’t happen again.

            “Yeah?” you call out. You peek out from behind his shower curtain, expecting Mizuki to already be in the bathroom, but the door only opens a crack.

            “Are you okay? Can I come in?” he shouts through the opening. You furrow your brows.

            “Yes,” you say. “And yes.”

            Mizuki opens the door all the way and steps inside. He’s also still in his boxers, but he’s clutching the sides of his arms.

            “Cold?” you ask. He nods with a shiver and you grin. “Why are you still out there, then?”

            He cocks his head.

            “You want me to come in with you?”

            “Get your ass in here.”

            You watch as he slides his boxers down and kicks them away and this is the first time you’ve seen him completely naked and in the light. He’s standing in the middle of the room instead of hanging over your body in bed, and he’s even more incredible when he’s this visible. He is so dark and so – you don’t know. He definitely _looks_ like a Rib fighter and you’re going to make a joke about his dick being soft but he beats you to it – sort of.

            “Wow,” he says with a smirk as he climbs into the shower with you, putting his hands on your upper arms and scooting you backwards. He turns around wordlessly and turns the shower knob. It must have been too cold. Oops. “Taking a shower alone and you’re this hard?”

            You scowl when you remember that you _are_ pretty turned on. Thinking about Mizuki’s body started it, but seeing it probably finished it. You try to think of something to say but you come up with nothing. This is really embarrassing and you really feel your age. You are every bit the horny teenager to Mizuki’s mature adult, and you feel like an idiot.

            “What were you thinking about?” he asks quietly, looking you in the eyes as he starts rubbing down your arms. He’s smiling. He’s got his head kinked to the side as he regards you and you have to take a breath. “Were you thinking about last night? Is that why you’re hard?”

            “Maybe,” you answer. His hands trail down your arms and around to the small of your back. He pulls you toward him harshly and your bodies smack against each other.

            “Maybe?” he asks. He sounds so sexy and dangerous and you are a mess.

            “You don’t get hard thinking about it?” you ask. He laughs lightly.

            “You know what I get hard thinking about?”

            “What?” you nod.

            “Sucking your dick.”

            You almost choke on your own spit. You’re not sure why you weren’t expecting that. But you weren’t. And it shocked you. And it – sounds really great. And you – hope he. Does that. And –

            “You wouldn’t let me suck your dick last night,” he continues, his hands crawling up your back and gripping your shoulders. He’s almost _whining_. He’s almost _begging_ to suck your dick. “But you’re hard again. I feel like we should take advantage of this.”

            “Yeah?” you ask, mostly because you have no idea what else to say.

            “Yeah,” he nods, leaning in and capturing your lips in his. He’s warm and he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip and you think you just got harder. He sucks on your lip for a few seconds before he tips up onto his toes, lets go of your mouth and whispers, “I want to know what it’s like to have your dick in my mouth.”

            You desperately want to be as sexy as Mizuki, but only one thought pops into your mind:

            “Why?”

            Mizuki laughs again.

            “I guess you don’t know it, but I’m _really_ good at sucking dick,” he says and you just barely keep your knees from buckling. “It’s one of my favorite things to do.”

            “You do it a lot?”

            “Well – not _too_ much, if you know what I mean,” he says and you can’t believe that this is perfect, innocent, safe sex Mizuki saying these things to you. “I just want to know what it’s like to suck a pierced dick.”

            “Oh yeah?” you finally smirk back. Honestly, sometimes you forget that your dick has so much metal in it. You _love_ that Mizuki is so turned on by it.

            “Yeah,” he bites his bottom lip. “I want to know what it’s like _inside_ me too, but for right now… if you don’t mind…”

            The thought of fucking Mizuki paralyzes you. The thought of having him on his hands and knees and fucking him doggy style – the thought of hearing him whimper and beg – it overcomes you and you’re wide-eyed just thinking about it. But then you realize he’s staring at you, waiting for your permission.

            He’s asking permission. To suck _your_ dick.

            “Yeah,” you say weakly, and you can’t believe how genuinely eager he seems as he slowly drops to his knees, his palms tracing down your sides the whole time, staring up at you as he situates himself between your feet. He grips your waist and runs his tongue along his lips before he licks the first stripe up your dick.

            Fuck.

            You can’t feel that.

            And you don’t know how to tell him.

            He licks again, his tongue catching the piercings just slightly, but not enough to tug at all. You furrow your brows when he looks up at you.

            “What’s wrong? No?” he asks, suddenly panicked. There he is. There’s the Mizuki you know. The careful Mizuki who’s worried that he’s upsetting you.

            “No, _no,”_ you stop him before he can stand up. “It’s just – I can’t feel that.”

            “Oh,” he says, blinking slowly. “Fuck. No shit. Of course.”

            “Just – it’s okay, though, just – bite it.”

            He glares up at you.

            “Really,” you insist. “Pull on the piercings. Bite it. Dig your nails into my – thighs or something.”

            Mizuki frowns and looks away. Tiny specks of water dot his face from the spray. He looks good. It suddenly strikes you how good he’d look with cum on his face.

            “I… hate the thought of hurting you.”

            “It won’t scar or anything,” you tell him. “And it _doesn’t hurt_. If you don’t do it, I can’t feel it at all.”

            “You’ll tell me?” he asks. “Like last night?”

            “I swear I’ll tell you,” you promise with a nod. “I’ll pull your hair if I need you to stop.”

            “Er…” he pauses. “Maybe you should do something else. I kind of… want you to pull my hair anyway.”

            Oh. Mizuki is… a little bit kinkier than you realized.

            Your dick actually twitches. It twitches right in Mizuki’s face. The corner of his lips crook up into a wry smile.

            “I’ll just tell you, then,” you say hoarsely, and Mizuki nods.

            “Actually,” he says, “I kind of want you to do a lot of things, you know?”

            “A lot of things?” you ask. You’ve practically lost your voice at this point.

            “Yeah,” he tells you, leaning his face in and rubbing his cheek up and down your dick. You can’t feel it, but it sure looks fucking amazing. “I kind of like it rough.”

            You swallow your heart back down your throat. You love Mizuki. You love Mizuki so much that you stood in his shower and fantasized about being his boyfriend. You had the gentlest, most intimate sex with Mizuki last night, after _months_ of getting to know each other. After four dates. After an entire night of connecting and crying and telling each other secrets. Mizuki is an angel and he should be treasured.

            But you are more than willing to give it to him rough if that’s what he wants.

            You take a fistful of his hair and pull his head back. He actually cries out in surprise as his head cranes backwards and his mouth hangs open.

            “I can only give it to you rough if you start sucking,” you say darkly, far darker than you intend, but the thought of Mizuki submitting to you is exciting. You hadn’t ever considered something like this. You want this really bad.

            He laughs quietly but witlessly as you bring his head forward and shove your dick in his mouth. You push all the way in, until his lips meet your body and then you press him against you by the back of his head. He moans into your dick helplessly and grips your outer thighs tight, digging his nails into you and you can tell that it’s less for you to feel and more because he’s trying to suppress his gag reflex. You grin.

            “Is this what you want?” you ask, stilling for just a few more seconds.

            Mizuki nods and moans his best, “ _Uh huh,”_ around your dick. He’s being really needy. You can’t imagine why he wants your dick this bad, but you don’t think you’re going to last long with him acting like this.

            You pull his head off and he takes a loud breath.

            “If you want it so bad, why don’t you beg for it?”

            “Please,” he says without skipping a beat. You thought that might throw him for a loop, but it doesn’t. Mizuki _really_ wants you.

            “You can do better than that.”

            “ _Please_ ,” he repeats, still trying to catch his breath. “Please let me suck your dick, Noiz. I want to suck your dick.”

            You let out a shuddering breath.

            “Good,” you mutter, guiding his head back to your cock and letting him wrap his lips around it himself this time. He pouts around the head and before you realize what’s happening, his teeth grab the piercing delicately and he pulls backwards, sending a stinging shockwave up your stomach.

            “ _Fuck!”_ you shout, leaning forward in surprise. You grab him by the side of his head with one hand and brace yourself against the shower wall with the other. “ _Fuck_ yes, that. Do that again.”

            He does. He tugs the barbell backwards a few times and each time you grunt louder and louder as your toes curl against the floor. Then he lets go and takes your entire dick in his mouth again, this time slowly applying more and more pressure as he bites down, his front teeth sinking into your cock.

            “Now suck it,” you instruct, and he follows your orders obediently. You can see his cheeks hollow out as his head tilts back slightly, his teeth still biting into you as he sucks as hard as he can. You hate the sounds you’re making. You’re usually pretty good at staying quiet at times like this, but Mizuki is so – Mizuki. You want this so badly from him, in a way that you’ve never wanted an orgasm before. It’s not just about _getting off;_ it’s also about the fact that it’s _Mizuki who wants to get you off._ This is the best blowjob you’ve ever gotten.

            When he lets go for a moment to take a loud breath, you grab his hair again and force him all the way down. All of your piercings are in his mouth now and his nails in your sides are getting sharper.

            “So, you like it rough?” you ask.

            Again, he can’t really answer. He mumbles an, “ _Uh huh.”_

“I’m gonna fuck your face, Mizuki.”

            He closes his eyes and nods emphatically with a small smile. You take that as pretty explicit excitement, and waste no time slamming your dick against the back of his throat. His hair is damp in your hands as you use them both to fuck his face against your dick, and you’re pretty familiar with this. People have done this to you before, and you somehow manage to block it out, even as it’s happening. You’re aware that you’re kneeling there like a ragdoll, lifeless and unreactionary, but no one ever seemed to mind.

            Mizuki isn’t like that. Mizuki is moaning with you. Mizuki is leaning _into_ your hands. Mizuki is bobbing up and down on his knees, digging his nails in and out of you, tonguing down your length at all your piercings… Mizuki is _into_ this. Mizuki wants to be doing this. Mizuki loves it. And it strikes you that Mizuki probably loves it because he trusts you – you never trusted the people you did this with. This is a completely different kind of kinky than you’re used to. The idea that you can do this – that you can be this way with someone – and not wonder if they’re going to leave you for dead afterwards is so overwhelming that you think it might turn you on a little.

            “Do you like this?” you ask. You suppose you can disguise a genuine sentiment as a domineering question. Mizuki nods and mewls insistently. His eyes are closed but he seems really happy.

            Then you notice one of his own hands is off your hips and on his own dick. You smirk.

            “Can’t wait, huh?” Mizuki shakes his head as best he can. “You don’t want me to do that for you?”

            Mizuki’s head pops off your dick quickly.

            “No,” he breathes. “I just want you to come on my face.”

            Then his mouth is on you again and you have to bite your bottom lip to keep from coming right then and there.

            “Yeah?” you ask. “You want me to come in your hair? Your face? That’s kind of humiliating, isn’t it?”

            He whines again and you can hear the water slapping off his dick as he jerks himself off. You start fucking his mouth again for a few minutes, pausing every so often to let him catch his breath, and you both start sighing heavily into the steamy air around you. Mizuki is whimpering from the back of his throat as he nips at your piercings and clamps his teeth around your dick, and all of it combined has you so close that you almost forget to pull out when you come.

            Mizuki isn’t expecting it when you do pull out, and his teeth scrape down your length, pulling all of your piercings one last time, which is _so_ much stimulation that you slam your hand against the shower wall before you come.

            “ _Mizuki!”_ you shout, forcing your eyes to stay open as you look down at him. He holds your dick at the base and aims the tip at his hair, so the first trail of semen drips down from his bangs to his temple. Then he makes eye contact with you as he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue as far as it will go, dragging your dick down his face, so that your cum spills across the bridge of his nose and onto his tongue, painting his skin white and you don’t know what happens after that. You’re so worn out by how fucking hot he is that you slide onto the shower floor and the next thing you know, you’re watching him lick his lips clean and lean into the spray of the shower to wash out his hair.

            You have to catch your breath. You don’t even remember if it felt good; all you remember is that he looked _so hot_ on his knees in this shower, your cum all over his face, that you basically blacked out. You’ve blacked out during sex before. But never because of something amazing.

            Then you realize you’re both sitting on the floor, staring at each other. He’s grinning crazily and you can hardly meet his eyes.

            “Wait,” you say between panting, “did you –?”

            “Yeah,” he nods. “Just a little before you did. You were really into it, you didn’t even notice.”

            You take a deep breath.

            “I didn’t – know you were – into that kind of stuff,” you mumble. His grin widens and he leans over to kiss your cheek.

            “I’m into all kinds of stuff,” he whispers against your face. “Maybe you can find out more later. Let me make you breakfast now, though, since I just had mine.”

            You roll your eyes. But the idea of your – boyfriend? – making you breakfast is almost more appealing than an early morning shower blowjob (almost), so you nod. Then you grab his face and kiss him on his lips, letting your tongue sneak out for a second to taste yourself on him. He seems a little embarrassed. Good. A little revenge before breakfast.

            Mizuki makes you both eggs and fish but you’re not all that hungry for once, especially when he pulls you onto the couch with him and nestles you into his side. You entwine your legs and you pick at your breakfast and watch him eat his. Every new thing you see him do is your new favorite thing he does – the way he nods slightly each time he takes a bite and then smiles at you is your favorite thing right now.

            Then, the way he stretches backwards to put both of your plates on the end table and his shirt rides up to expose his happy trail is your favorite thing. Then, the way he sighs and runs his fingers through his hair after he mutters that he ate too fast is your favorite thing. And then – the way he pulls you up into him and wraps his arms around you. That’s it. That’s definitely your favorite thing. The way you fit into his chest, the way you can curl your head onto him and hear his heartbeat, the way his entire body vibrates when he laughs – that’s your new favorite thing right now.

            “So, hey…” you say just as he laces his fingers into yours. “Your cat…”

            “Which one? They’ve been outside all night,” he says. His voice is soft against your ears because he’s so much closer than usual that he doesn’t need to speak loudly.

            “Sake.”

            “Oh. Yeah. What about him?”

            “Was he just… sitting? In the bedroom? The whole time?”

            “Oh,” Mizuki says with a laugh. You can hear the embarrassment in it. “Fuck. I guess so. Shit, I totally forgot.”

            “Are you supposed to do that kind of shit in front of an animal?” you ask, and you can’t help but laugh, too.

            “I don’t think so,” he groans. “Oh no, I feel so terrible.”

            “It’s okay,” you pat his hand. “We’ll just remember for next time.”

            “Yeah,” he says throatily. “Next time.”

            You’re pretty sure he’s smiling. You’re smiling too.

            “At least he didn’t hear the stuff in the shower,” you say. “That was the really – intense stuff.”

            “ _Yeah_ ,” he croons, extending the word in a low whisper. He seems proud of himself, as he should be. “Intense.”

            “I didn’t… know you were into that kind of stuff.”

            “What kind of stuff?” he asks.

            “Rough stuff,” you tell him. “I don’t know. You know what I mean.”

            “ _Rough_ stuff,” he says, his voice still low and turning you on again. “Well, like I said, I’m into a lot of stuff. But I have a lot of shit to do today so you’ll have to find out what later.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah,” he says, shifting on the couch to lift you up. “I actually… really do have to head out soon. But we can hang out tonight?”

            You sigh. You really liked curling into him on the couch, but you nod anyway as he stands up to stretch. He’s wearing the tightest jeans you’ve ever seen and you thank whatever high power exists that his ass is right in your face as he does it.

            “Sure,” you finally tell him, standing up as well and swinging your arms awkwardly as you look him in the eye. He smiles and reaches out to hold your face in his hands as he kisses you. It’s soft and simple and something a – boyfriend would do.

            “I’ll call you,” he says, but that’s not good enough.

            “Hey,” you nod at him.

            “Yeah?”

            You blink slowly. Are you really going to say this?

            “I’m just – what are we?”

            It’s not something you ever envisioned yourself saying. But you never saw yourself waking up next to someone you loved either, and that happened a few hours ago, so –

            Mizuki tilts his head and regards you with a small smile.

            He looks confused. That’s not what you wanted.

            “What do you mean?” he asks. You immediately regret the question.

            “Nothing,” you say quickly, pulling away. “I – it was nothing. I’ll see you tonight –”

            “No,” Mizuki interrupts, “I – we should talk about that.”

            “Yeah?” you ask, your lips tugging up into a smile on their own.

            “Yeah,” he says. “I – didn’t know that you wanted to move that fast.”

            Your lips fall back into crestfallen disappointment.

            “No, I don’t,” you shrug. “I was just asking.”

            “Okay,” Mizuki nods. “I just – you know. You were over here not that long ago helping me after a – serious nightmare. From… just… you know.” He doesn’t seem to know what to say. He rubs his hand against the back of his neck and then tugs on the bottom of his hair. He’s nervous. “I just don’t think I’m in a good place. I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to date anyone seriously just yet.”

            You swallow down the lump in your throat. Of course. Of course he doesn’t want to date you seriously. Because he _is_ still hurting. He _is_ still fucked up by Morphine. And you can’t help with that. You made that pretty obvious that night; that you aren’t Koujaku and you don’t know how to help people who really need something, no matter how badly you might want to – which you never did before you met Mizuki. Whatever. You’re a fucking idiot.

            Still, what was all this then? What was last night? What was the shower and what was making you breakfast and cuddling you on the couch? That’s just what Mizuki wants to do with you, without the title? Isn’t that what boyfriends do? You can’t decide if you’re more embarrassed or angry right now, so you think you should probably go.

            “Alright,” you shrug, turning around to head to the front door. You wonder if you can find Virus and Trip right now. You really should get their numbers. “Sorry that I read that all… so wrong.”

            “No!” Mizuki shouts, stepping forward and reaching out for you. “No, I’m sorry. I guess it did all come off weird – wait, come on.”

            He grabs your hand and you whirl around to face him again, your eyes heavy-lidded and you’re not sure you want to stay here and listen to him, but you’re desperate to hear anything that softens this blow.

            “I’m interested, I just… I want to go slow.”

            Slow. You’ve heard that before. In movies. In TV shows. A lot of which Mizuki showed you. But you suppose that’s better than nothing. And you also suppose it’s fair enough, given the fact that Mizuki _does_ have trouble sleeping through the night still, though you don’t understand why he wouldn’t want someone else there to be with him. But, again, you can’t help there. He’d probably prefer someone like Koujaku for that.

            So you have to take it slow to prove to him that you can learn how to be the one who’s there for him.

            You suppose you can do that.

            “Okay,” your murmur. You look to the floor because you’re still too embarrassed to look at him, but you can tell he’s smiling. “So we’re not boyfriends.”

            “Just… Maybe not yet.”

            “Okay,” you shrug. “So we’re not exclusive or anything? We can fuck other people?”

            “Oh.”

            Your eyes shoot up at him. He seems surprised.

            “What?” you ask.

            “Oh, I just – I didn’t think about that.” He smiles again but something about it seems the slightest bit disingenuous. “Of course I’m not going to try to control you. I mean – I wouldn’t try to even if you were my boyfriend, but… since you’re _not_ my boyfriend… No. No, we’re not exclusive.”

            “…Do you want to be?” you press him. It really seems like he expected you would be, even if he’s saying that you’re not.

            “I guess I thought – we would be,” he admits. “But I want to ease into something more serious and I mean… I guess that’s selfish. To want to be exclusive and then expect you to feel the same way.”

            “We can be,” you say, but he shakes his head quickly.

            “No,” he says firmly. “I mean, you don’t _have_ to go out and fuck other people,” he laughs. “But… that’s totally up to you. We’re not committed to each other. Do what you want.”

            You’re confused and you don’t know what to feel. Mizuki wanted to be monogamous with you. But he didn’t want to be your boyfriend. You suppose that _is_ selfish. Mizuki was being selfish with you because he wanted you so badly. But he also _didn’t_ want you – you shake your head. You’re confused.

            “Alright,” you say, stuffing your hands in your pockets and backing up slowly. “So… cool. I’m gonna leave. So you can go do your stuff.”

            “Okay,” Mizuki nods, and you turn around to head toward the front door. “I’ll still call you tonight, if that’s okay?”

            “Of course,” you call behind you. You really do want him to call. But you have to get out of here right now. You have to clear your head for a second and gather your bearings. You have to find Virus and Trip.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whats a kouj to do

            (The sidewalk is still fairly wet from the leftover rain that has been pouring all day and Koujaku always gets paranoid that weather like this will destroy the hems of his kimonos despite the fact that they only fall to his ankles. Still, he gathers as much material as he can in one hand and pulls it to the side as he trudges home from Black Needle.

            Although it’s dark outside, it’s earlier than usual for him to be calling it a night – he decided he simply couldn’t be around when Noiz showed up. He waved goodbye to Mizuki from across the room and left. It’s strange enough to see his best friend show such explicit physical affection for someone he despises; he definitely doesn’t want to be there to feel guilty about the fact that he hasn’t told Mizuki that Noiz is fucking Virus and Trip behind his back.

            He hasn’t said anything because he doesn’t reallyknow for certain if Noiz _is_ fucking Virus and Trip behind Mizuki’s back. Or else, he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to be fucking them. And there’s nothing he wants less than to add more undue stress on Mizuki. Not after everything they went through with his confession about Ryuuhou and not now that they’re finally back to talking without any stilted air around them, or awkward silences falling upon them as they try not to bring up anything to upset the other. He had told Mizuki three weeks ago that his leather pants were so tight they must be cutting off circulation to his brain, because the idea of waiting to have sex when he and his date – _Noiz –_ both clearly wanted it was stupid. Mizuki had punched him in the temple and suddenly everything was back to normal; they were sparring and laughing like they used to and Koujaku has been nervous something will fuck that up again ever since.

            Koujaku is morose. Koujaku is walking home in the drizzle and this hurts more than anything. He thinks this might hurt even more than when Aoba left, if only because Mizuki was the one who was there for him after that. Koujaku is depressed. Koujaku is the wretched building action of a romance movie, if that romance movie was about two best friends instead of a sensual couple. Koujaku is the cliché of a man walking in the rain that is his own misery. Koujaku is –

            fucking shocked to see _Trip_ inside the bakery to his right.

            Virus and Trip are even scarcer these days than they used to be, so to run into Trip as often as he does is baffling. Koujaku stops in the middle of the sidewalk and presses his hands against the giant window of the business. Trip is bulky and massive in the delicately put-together pastry shop. Even Koujaku would seem a bit burly for the gentle interior, but that doesn’t cross his mind as he enters in a fury. If Trip is going to so brazenly frequent Koujaku’s long-claimed home territory, Koujaku is going to confront him about it.

            The last thing Koujaku notices before he grips Trip’s shoulder and whirls him around is how enchanted the woman behind the counter is with him, and that’s just as bizarre as his presence. It’s enraging too; that Trip could have anyone fooled into thinking he was endearing, and that’s why Koujaku loses his cool so quickly:

            “Hey!” he shouts curtly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

            Trip stares at him in confusion at first, as if he’s trying to place him, but then a grin spreads across his face. He looks down his nose at him.

            “Hey,” he says, like a greeting, like he’s saying hello to an old friend. Koujaku shakes his head.

            “Did you hear me?” he asks. “Why are you in my neighborhood?”

            Trip continues smiling. He nods at the counter.

            “It’s the best bakery in the area. I’ve got somewhere to be soon—”

            “I don’t care where you have to be!” Koujaku yells. “Unless it’s far away from here!”

            “That might be difficult,” he says, turning to grab a box off the counter and put some money down. “I have to patrol Dry Juice. You know that.”

            “Then walk down an alley and then beat it. Don’t come to our stores. These aren’t yakuza stores.”

            “But Koujaku,” Trip says with a smile that Koujaku wants to slap away, “didn’t we tell you before? Virus and I are the good yakuza.”

            Koujaku clenches his hands at his sides. Sometimes digging his nails into his own flesh stills his rage and keeps him from flying off the handle. Trip doesn’t just piss him off because of the physical threat he poses to Mizuki: Trip pisses him off because he can’t understand his and Virus’s relationship. They’re close. It’s undeniable. They’re best friends, like Koujaku and Mizuki – Koujaku thinks. That’s what’s so enraging: he doesn’t know what Virus and Trip are. But they seem to work better than he and Mizuki. And that pisses Koujaku off. He wants his best friend back. He doesn’t understand why Virus and Trip get to have each other but he’s losing both of his best friends in the world.

            Trip raises his eyebrows and Koujaku notices the wary looks he’s receiving from the woman but he doesn’t care.

            “Anyway,” Trip says as he pushes by Koujaku’s shoulder. “I’ll get out of your bakery, now.”

            He leaves Koujaku standing in the middle of the room. The woman asks if she can help him. Koujaku scowls at her and then follows Trip out.

            “Hey!” he shouts after him. “Don’t walk away from me!”

            Trip stops in his tracks. He pivots to face Koujaku. Koujaku pauses too, his body swaying from the surprise of Trip’s immediate acquiescence. He feels his nostrils flare and his forehead wrinkle as he thinks of what to say. He _knows_ what he wants to say. He just doesn’t know how to say it.

            “Where’s…” he stutters. “Where’s Virus?”

            Trip grins.

            “Already there.”

            “Where?”

            “Do you want to know where I’m going?”

            “No,” Koujaku shakes his head angrily. He doesn’t want to get close to Trip. He just wants to understand. “You two just seem like the kind of freaks who always knows where the other one is.”

            Trip shrugs.

            “Most of the time. Not on purpose, though. We work together. It’s hard not to know.”

            “You guys were friends since you were children?” Koujaku asks suddenly. His body is still jolting with electricity. He’s swaying back and forth, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he’s ready to box.

            “We knew each other since we were children,” Trip says and Koujaku almost misses the subtlety.

            “Not friends?”

            “Where’s Mizuki?”

            The question is so quick and so sudden that it takes Koujaku off guard.

            “Black Needle,” he answers automatically. “I – wait, why?”

            “You like to know where your friend is at all times,” Trip says. “Isn’t that what you’re getting at?”

            Koujaku hates that he has to admit that Trip is far cleverer than he realized.

            He doesn’t know why his body is so fired up. He doesn’t know why Trip is spurring this sort of angry but curious reaction from him. He doesn’t know if he wants to fight Trip or buy him a coffee and ask him his thoughts on the world. Maybe he could talk to him while punching him at the same time – that would be nice.

            “If Virus turned into someone you didn’t know anymore,” he finds himself saying. “If he didn’t act any different but he did all these new things. Started liking new people you never thought he’d like. Started pulling away. What would you do?”

            Trip has the toothiest grin Koujaku’s ever seen. It’s a grin that’s too big for his face, a grin that tells Koujaku he understands exactly what he’s trying to ask.

            “Nothing,” he answers with a shrug. “Virus can do whatever he wants.”

            Of course. Virus and Trip are just _so much better_ than he and Mizuki. Virus and Trip are more in tune with each other; they’re more civil; they’re more mature. They can grow and change and accept it but Mizuki can’t date someone new without Koujaku’s entire life turning upside down. Koujaku is extremely self-aware. And he hates that.

            “I’m sure he can,” he spits. “What do you know about Noiz? What do you mean he can’t feel anything?”

            If Trip isn’t going to help with Mizuki, then Koujaku is going to get to the bottom of the Noiz situation instead.

            “He can’t _feel_ anything,” Trip croons monotonously. “I don’t know what it is. But if you punch him, he can’t feel it. You can bite his tongue and he might moan. But if you bite him anywhere else – can’t feel it.”

            Everything about Koujaku suddenly calms down but his breathing. He hears himself exhale raggedly out his nose and he closes his eyes slowly to try to calm down. So Trip has bitten Noiz? Or has Noiz simply told him this? What is their connection? How do they know each other?

            “How… do you know this?” Koujaku asks slowly, dreading the answer.

            He finally opens his eyes and the same crazy grin is staring him down. His heart skips a beat.

            “It seems like you already know.”

            Koujaku takes a deep breath.

            “Tell me,” he says. “Are you….” He can’t say the word. He makes some arbitrary hand motion instead. “…With him?”

            Trip’s head suddenly snaps up. He shifts backwards onto one foot and his smile disappears. It’s as if he just got hit in the head with a ball and decided he was done with the conversation.

            “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to spread Noiz’s business around,” he says as he turns to leave. Koujaku takes a step forward and grunts.

            “Are you serious? You just told me –”

            “You should talk to Mizuki,” Trip interrupts. He looks over his shoulder as he starts to walk away. “If you’re really that worried about your friendship, I mean.”

            Koujaku watches in misery as Trip’s back retreats. He can’t talk to Mizuki. He can’t tell Mizuki that he’s worried their friendship is crumbling away, because what if he’s right? What if Mizuki doesn’t have the time to worry about this relationship anymore? He’s getting close to Noiz. Maybe that’s all he needs now. If Koujaku brings it up, he’ll surely start a conversation about it. And if that conversation ends poorly, Koujaku doesn’t know what he’ll do. Koujaku can’t tell Mizuki that he thinks Noiz is having sex with Virus and Trip. He can’t get involved. He can’t ruin something else for Mizuki.

            Maybe _can’t_ is the wrong word. He _can_. He _should_. But he doesn’t think he has the guts. He doesn’t have the _guts_ to ruin this for Mizuki.

            On the way home, Koujaku passes the dumpster he once held Noiz against when he fucked him and realizes he already kind of has.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> luv dat dirty kouj


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the day noiz would come to remember as the building blocks he never noticed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning for** what i have come to call 'light stuffing' lmfao its not any worse than the trip scene in r:c but yeah like. foodplay and some mention of like spit? idk potentially a lil gross so. i don't *think* anything else needs to be warned for
> 
> also i had issues proofreading this one so i apologize for errors weh
> 
> also very very very important PLEASE READ THE END NOTES because i don't want to spoil anything but this chapter is something i struggled with and need you to know why!

            “I really don’t want anymore,” you tell Trip, turning your face away to avoid the mini-cake he’s shoving at you. “Stop it.”

            “You liked it,” he insists and you have to pull your head so far back that you can feel your throat close in on itself like a Slinky.

            “I’m full now.”

            “You have to finish the one you started.”

            “You haven’t finished a single one,” you protest. He’s taken a bite of everything he’s bought but he hasn’t eaten anything in its entirety and you don’t find that fair. He’s also still totally clothed while you’re completely nude, which you don’t find fair either, but you’re a lot more used to that.

            “I know, Virus hates that, that’s why you have to finish,” Trip grins. You hear Virus laugh lightly in your ear and you think he tightens his grip around your stomach. He’s been cuddling you into his lap for the past twenty minutes, his dick hard and poking around your ass but refusing to actually enter. You’ve actually gotten aroused from waiting and you’re getting impatient.

            You’re also supposed to meet Mizuki at Black Needle later tonight, so you kind of want to get on with this.

            “I’m not the one who bought – _ugh_!” Virus shifting you around his lap interrupts you. You anticipate him entering you, but he doesn’t, so you take a deep breath and finish your thought: “Eighty different cakes and then wasted them.”

            “Trip is very particular about his pastries,” Virus tells you. He’s so playful that you can’t figure out if he’s fucking with you or not, but Trip’s genuine smile seems to indicate he’s not.

            “That’s fucking fascinating,” you say. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

            You thought you’d gotten over this. You thought three dates – no, _four_ dates – sex that didn’t involve you gritting your teeth until it ended, cuddling in a fucking field under the fucking stars would fix this but here you are, in Virus’s lap again, and you’ve never been more convinced that you are irreparable beyond repair. That’s redundant. See, you’re stupid too. How did you ever convince Mizuki to date you? He’s even stupider than you are.

            “We’d love to, but you – ” Virus starts, but you scoff from the back of your throat so hard that you can see the spit fly. You don’t need him to continue his sentence. You already know what he’s about to ask.

            “I asked you here to fuck me because – you – ”

            Actually, you’re at a loss. You found Virus near Bug Bomb again after searching all afternoon, and he told you he’d follow you home and call Trip to meet you, but by the time you’d found his idiotic hair, you’d already walked off most of your frustration. But not completely – when you thought of Mizuki, you’d double up in humiliation and try to physically knock the thought out of your head with the heel of your palm. He doesn’t want to be your boyfriend. At first it was shocking, but the more time has dragged on – approximately six, seven hours – the more you realized that it all made sense, of course he doesn’t want to be your _boyfriend_ and you’re back to square one. You didn’t want to think about it anymore. At least, not until you got to see him again tonight.

            That’s the worst part: one second you’re trying to forget Mizuki exists because you want to beat the shit out of yourself for being so embarrassing, but the next you’re excited to see him again, as always. It doesn’t make sense. You don’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. No – Virus teasing you until you want to cry and Trip shoving cake down your throat until you think you might throw up all that sugar makes sense. Those are the only things that make any sense.

            You don’t know how to word it though, and that’s what Virus wants from you right now. You brought them here because you – feel stupid. That’s the _gist._

            “I brought you here because I was stupid and – arrogant,” you say. Arrogant. That just came to you, but you suppose that’s it. You thought Mizuki would want you for sure after three dates, because you forgot that Mizuki meets tons of people every _day_ that are far more worth sitting in a field under the stars with than you. Maybe that’s your selfishness, too.

            “Arrogant? Why don’t you speak to that?” Virus coos into your ear, like it’s some job interview. Trip reaches into the box of pastries on your dresser and takes a bite of another one that he’ll no doubt discard in two more bites.

            “Shut up,” you say, more to his tone than his words, and shifting up on your shins and leaning forward to try to entice Virus a little more. Reminding him that your ass is already open and ready has worked before, at least.

            “It seems as though you’ve been doing fine on your own lately,” he continues, leaning back against his own heels, away from you, in response to your movement. You scowl. “It was a surprise to hear from you.”

            You start to sway your hips slowly, hoping he notices but doesn’t realize he’s noticing. You tilt your head up to catch Trip’s gaze again, and he stares at you as he chews for a moment before he saunters toward you and squats down. He pulls you down and now you’re on your knees, your palms and chin on the sheets and your ass high in the air. At least Virus has to notice it now.

            “Eat,” he says, wasting no time between his words and pushing a donut into your mouth. You try to object but the dough is in your mouth and muffling any words that you try to get out. He presses it so far that his fingers enter your mouth. “Suck.”

            “Nuh uh,” you say, trying to shake your head.

            “Suck it all off,” he insists.

            “ _Nuh uh,”_ you whine, recoiling and trying to spit the donut out around his hand. He’s being disgusting, you can be disgusting too.

            “Don’t misunderstand me,” Virus’s voice pierces the room, his thighs knocking against your ass so hard you lurch forward. “I’m _glad_ we ran into you. In fact, we should give you a number you can reach us at more easily.”

            “Mhm,” you try to tell him to shut up, but now there are two fingers pushing the donut deep into your mouth, inching slowly for your throat.

            “We’ll leave it with you when we leave,” he continues, and you feel Virus’s nails now on your ass, spreading your cheeks apart. While Trip’s fingers creep further into your mouth, Virus’s creep towards your hole, circling around it lightly and you moan around the food in your mouth before Virus pulls his fingers away. Then you feel the tip of his dick instead. Of course. Of course he’s going to finally start to fuck you now that you’re distracted by Trip. They’re good at this.

            Virus starts to push into you slowly and you try to grit your teeth but can’t, not with Trip’s fingers in your mouth. Instead, you bite down on them slowly and he doesn’t react whatsoever. You screw your eyes shut and try to catch your breath as you grind your teeth against his skin; you can feel his finger bones below your molars and the donut has gotten mushy and spit-covered. It’s not that Virus hurts, obviously, it’s just that he’s taking his time and actually letting you adjust, which is almost as bad. It’s slow and meticulous and you can’t figure out if you want to focus more on Virus filling your ass or Trip filling your mouth. You moan again and then you hear Trip laugh so low that your eyes pop open in surprise.

            “You’re so cute,” he coos, stupid grin plastered on your face and you’re taken so off guard by the comment that you let him push his fingers in far enough to force you to swallow. Half the donut is gone now, so you relent and swallow the rest, just as Virus makes one last, slow push in, and you let out a long groan as his thrust shoves you forward torturously and Trip slides his finger out of your mouth, your lips caressing them on accident as he does so.

            You’re still staring up at him, your mouth hanging open in shock at his compliment when he turns to the bakery box and you know he’s going to grab another half-eaten pastry to feed you. It’s always sort of jarring when Trip so unabashedly compliments you, though you’re not surprised he’d think this sort of this constitutes as “cute.” Virus compliments you all the time, but something about the way he says it is disingenuous and snake-like and you know he only does it to lull you into some sense of false safety. Trip actually means it. Trip actually thinks this is adorable. He likes you naked and on all fours, eating from his hand while getting fucked. This is endearing to him. He enjoys it.

            This time you let him feed you with no complaints. Virus is starting a build a rhythm of fucking into you as Trip comes back and kneels down again, placing a piece of white cake in front of your mouth before pushing it in easily. You’re a deer in the headlights. A deer that really wants to be complimented again.

            “Hah?” You make some sort of sound as your eyes flutter upwards to Trip, asking him if this is good. If he likes this. He smiles.

            “Eat,” is all he says. You follow his orders and chew the cake thoroughly as you grunt and push back against Virus’s dick. You smack your lips up at Trip after you swallow and hope he doesn’t want to feed you much more. The sugar is nauseating and you haven’t eaten anything else today. You know that will make you sick.

            “Noiz-san,” Virus interrupts your thoughts. “Do you like that Trip just called you cute?”

            You nod instinctually. Maybe if you just admit it, they’ll do it again. It would be nice right now to just hear some praise, even if it’s at the mouths of sadistic assholes.

            “Noiz-san,” he says, the break in his voice giving away how much he’s enjoying fucking you. “Do you think you’re cute?”

            You don’t react immediately. The question rattles around in your head as Trip pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and starts to push another piece of cake into your mouth just as Virus manages to find your prostate. Your eyes widen and you gasp, but you never rip your gaze away from Trip’s. You’re staring each other in the eyes as you lean into him and he takes advantage of your open mouth to shove his fingers deep inside again, and the cake hits the back of your throat.

            You gag immediately. But Trip doesn’t bring his fingers away, so you have to suppress it as quickly as you can. You relax to the best of your ability, but you practically unhinge your jaw and break your neck trying to shake him out of you mouth. Your neck spazzes backwards like a cat but Virus saves you by pulling your head back by your hair. Your eyes fly to the ceiling and you cough the cake up and out of your mouth onto your chin.

            “Can you feel this, Noiz-san?”

            “Uh huh,” you gargle awkwardly.

            “Me inside of you?”

            “Uh huh.”

            “Does it feel good?”

            “Uh _huh_.”

            “Do you think you’re cute, Noiz-san?”

            “Uh huh!”

            Virus lets go of your hair and Trip grabs your chin again. This time he pulls you forward and kisses you sloppily, and then you realize what you just agreed to.

            “I see why you say you’re arrogant, Noiz-san,” Virus tells you. Trip’s kiss turns revolting when he pulls off your lips and starts to lick the cake that you spit out off your face. You try to pull away in disgust but you’re sort of fascinated by him. You want to see just how far he’ll go.

            “You taste good,” he mutters. He’s repulsive. Virus’s voice washes over you again:

            “Someone commends you once and you want more,” he says. He sounds like he’s trying to hold his orgasm in almost, which makes you feel sort of – arrogant. Shit. “Do you think you really deserve so much praise?”

            “Don’t,” you try to say, muffled mostly by Trip’s tongue, still lapping up all the food around your face. He pulls and turns your head every which way that suits him but Virus feels good inside you so you reach awkwardly for your dick and start to pull the piercing in the head hard against your skin.

            You’re caught between feeling good from Virus’s dick and feeling terrible from his words; he’s right to berate you for this. Mizuki dated you and then slept with you and told you that you were a good person and you assumed that meant you were worth something, or that you deserved anything more like that. How arrogant. Trip pulls his head back and looks you in the eyes.

            “You look so lewd,” he says. “On your knees. Touching yourself. Spit all over your face. It’s good. You look good.”

            “Do you like hearing that?” Virus asks. This is exactly how this works. You hook up with Virus and Trip they validate you. There’s something about knowing with absolute certainty that you’re a piece of shit that makes it easier to stomach.

            “Yes,” you mutter. Trip grins.

            “Cute,” he says. You dig your nails into your dick hard. Virus’s thrusts turn harsher and he hits that spot repeatedly. You’re close. “Cute, cute, cute,” Trip repeats and he sounds so eerie that you frown at him in bewilderment. Virus has his nails in your hips, holding you in place and you come staring right at Trip’s fucking face, but Mizuki’s is the one that pops into your head.

            “So easy,” Virus pants, fucking into you hard as you orgasm. It’s not nearly as good as the one last night, or even this morning in the shower. You don’t think anything will ever compare to those ever again. “Just praising you pushes you over the edge.”

            “You’re cute when you’re distressed,” Trip tells you and one last deep thrust against your prostate makes you cry out shrilly, tipping the orgasm just over the edge. Just as you loosen your grip on the sheet below you at the end of your orgasm, you feel Virus pull out quickly. You hear him orgasm – you see Trip watching him, rapt, in complete awe – but it’s not until he gets off you a few minutes later that you realize he’s come on the small of your back.

            Trip pats your hair down in what you think is an effort to comfort you before he stands up and you stay on the bed, gripping the foot of it in your fingers, your knees under your stomach to prop your ass up. You don’t know if the cum has dripped onto the bed yet, but if it hasn’t, you’d like to keep it from doing so. Virus gets dressed and then picks up a pen from your bedside table and writes something down on a scrap of paper from your dresser.

            “A number,” he says, “that you can reach us at.” He puts it on the dresser and then scoots the box of pastries towards Trip, who picks it up and nestles it between his arm and ribs. “This should be easier than having to come find us.”

            You don’t respond. You stare despondently at the floor. You can’t believe how disappointing that orgasm was, especially compared to the ones Virus and Trip usually give you. The revelation with Mizuki that going slow can give you such an intense pleasure has ruined you. But then you realize –

            “Wait,” you say. Virus is still straightening his tie when you speak up.

            “Hm?”

            “Do you – ”

            It wasn’t just the orgasm that was disappointing. It was the conversation itself. It was short. It was vacuous. It didn’t comfort you in the least, not even in the morbid, fucked up way that Virus and Trip usually make you feel better.

            “Do you think I’m –?”

            You can’t say it. You don’t want to admit that you want them to console you.

            You look up in time to see them both smiling down at you. It’s a condescending smirk, like they’re so much older and wiser and you hate that that’s true.

            “You’re not arrogant, Noiz-san,” Virus says. “You just like to be praised. We all do.”

            “You _really_ like it though,” Trip drawls and then takes a step towards the door. “I wonder why that is.”

            He says it as if he already knows. It’s laughable that you even have to register the tone, because of course he knows. They both know. They figured you out the first day they fucked you. Maybe that’s why they’ve stopped satisfying you as much. You’re not interesting to them anymore, so they’re less concerned with pleasing you in return. They leave you to clean yourself up and you can’t bring yourself to put their number in the same drawer as Emmerich’s so you leave it where it is to deal with later.

            Later – after you see Mizuki.

            He’s stretching his arms up lazily when you first spot him in Black Needle just a short hour later. You stand in the doorway as if you’re lost and you really fucking are – you’re completely baffled as to why you’re here. Why did he want to see you again? Why did he want you here? Would he still want you here if he knew what you just let Virus and Trip do to you?

            You’re back to the same confusing question as the day in his bathroom, when he was cleaning up the mark on your neck: _he seems to want you, so why doesn’t he want you?_

            You don’t think you can handle the bar tonight. It’s not particularly busy but even two people are more than you can handle right now. You think about turning around, going home and calling him to apologize but Kou spots you before you can leave. Kou has always been surprisingly friendly, for being one of Koujaku’s better friends. He throws an arm around you and you can smell the alcohol on his breath as he leads you to the bar. Mizuki is sitting on a stool, his hands clad in his fingerless leather gloves as always as he grips the bar and stares at a Dry Juice member expectantly, deep in conversation. He doesn’t spot you yet and Kou is droning on in your ear about something but you’re not paying attention; you’re far too distracted by how mundane and ordinary Mizuki is right now. Nodding slightly when he agrees with something, blinking a few times to try to comprehend a point, smiling faintly when he’s responding. He’s so normal. This is why you can’t stay away, no matter how embarrassed you are.

            When he does see you, he seems to _light up_ and you’re worried that he doesn’t really, and you’re just being _arrogant_. Maybe you just wish he would. Maybe you just wish that seeing you again after simply a few hours is so exciting and pleasurable to him that his entire world brightens just a little bit. You wish you were a bright light in his life, the way he is in yours.

            He excuses himself from his conversation and pulls you away from Kou and into a secluded corner. Then he _kisses you_ before he speaks a single word, his leather-bound hands on the sides of your mouth, echoing the grip that Trip had you in just an hour before. You cringe at first but when his lips find yours, you melt into him and any trace of Virus or Trip vanishes from your mind. You can smell alcohol on him too, but he’s just so _beautiful –_

When he pulls away, though, he looks disappointed.

            “Oh,” he says quietly, meeting your gaze as if he’s just remembered something.

            “What?” you ask frantically, pulling at his jacket zipper. You’re worried

            “Sorry, I – I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

            “Why not?”

            He frowns. What’s wrong? Why shouldn’t he have kissed you? Is he not going to kiss you anymore?

            “I just – feel like we left things weird this morning,” he admits. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

            He’s been thinking about _you_ all day.

            “Weird?” you ask.

            “Come on,” he mutters with a smile, pushing his arm into you. “You know it was awkward.”

            You look away. Of course it was. It was more than awkward. It made you want Virus and Trip again. But you want to hear _him_ say it. You look at him again.

            “Why shouldn’t you have kissed me?”

            He looks at you expectantly, his smile wavering, but you refuse to avert your eyes. You want him to talk to you. You want him to explain in his own words exactly what he thinks happened this morning. You want him to explain in his own words why he can’t kiss you. You want him to explain in his own words where your relationship is right now. It looks like he wants to avoid the subject all-together, but eventually he sighs and turns away.

            “That feels like something a boyfriend would do,” he says simply. You grit your teeth. It’s like he ripped open your chest.

            “And we’re not boyfriends,” you reply. He winces as if you just ripped open _his_.

            “I’m sorry,” he says, and you immediately relent. You don’t want him to feel bad. You hate seeing him like that.

            “Don’t,” you tell him. “It’s – fine, hey, can we go somewhere else? You can make it up to me by hanging out with me at your place or something.”

            He blinks slowly and you think he might actually refuse but then he smiles and laughs lightly through his nose.

            “Yeah,” he nods, turning back to you and hooking his fingers in his pockets. “Let’s go back to my place.”

            You ask him on the walk back if it’s okay to hold his hand or if that’s something that boyfriends do. He looks pained, but you’re serious. You want to hold his hand but you don’t know if it’s allowed anymore. His arm slowly creeps over to you as you’re walking with one foot in the gutter and he laces his fingers between yours. You rub your arm against his the rest of the way, pushing into him and leaning your face in to whisper jokes in his ear. He only pushes you away when you say something gross. He never lets go of your hand.

            “Do you want something to drink?” he asks when you get to his place, and you watch forlornly as he pours something alcoholic and honey-colored into a glass for himself. You frown.

            “No,” you tell him. “It’s okay.” You suppose it’s not your place to ask if he should be drinking more, but he’s hardly even tipsy tonight, so you let it go and sit down on his living room floor. He joins you with a cup that you can’t see through so you don’t know what he has in it or how much of it. You try to let it go.

            “What did you do today?” he asks. His tone implies he’s expecting a brief answer, and he takes a quick sip of his drink. You take a deep breath.

            “Just spent most of the day in bed,” you tell him. He nods as he swallows. Technically you’re not lying.

            “That’s good,” he says flippantly. You want to touch him.

            “What did you do?” you ask. He rolls his eyes up to think.

            “I actually tattooed this girl who said she was, um…” he trails off for a moment and seems to collect his thoughts. You wait patiently but the more he thinks, the more his expression seems to indicate that the experience was painful for him. “She was actually an orphan. And her adoptive mother just died. So she got a tattoo for her.”

            Oh.

            You nod and look at his eyes, which are glued to his drink. You pick yourself up and scoot closer to him and let your knee knock against his. You still feel very new to this and you don’t want to make it all about you again, like the night you came over after his nightmare. You also don’t want to sound like an idiot asking questions, so you think over your words very carefully. You study him too; he doesn’t seem to be close to crying, but he does seem overexerted. You know the feeling.

            “Is it okay if I touch you?” you ask. He looks at you quickly, as if he’s surprised, and a smile grows slowly across his lips. He nods at you and you put a hand on his thigh; not so high up as to make it lewd – ugh, that _word –_ but high enough to feel intimate. He’s still smiling as he takes another drink.

            You take a deep breath as you consider your next question. You feel silly, as if it’s quite obvious how much of a novice you are at making friends feel better and to be fair – you are. And Mizuki knows that. He doesn’t seem to mind.

            For some reason, it strikes you again just now that he doesn’t want to be your boyfriend. You flinch to yourself.

            “That made you sad?” you ask, forcing the thought away.

            “A little,” Mizuki says immediately. “I don’t know how my adoptive parents are doing at all.”

            “Really?”

            “I don’t speak to them at all.”

            “Do you – um…” You think of a question but you’re not sure if it’s okay to ask it. Mizuki must sense it.

            “It’s okay,” he says softly, placing his hand on yours. “What were you going to say?”

            “Do you… know… why… your real parents –?”

            “Ah,” Mizuki nods. “Yeah. My mother was Filipino, actually. My – _father –_ was Japanese and he… took advantage of her, really. She just didn’t want anything to do with me. She left me here – Midorijima is sort of lousy with abandoned kids, so I guess it was just easy. Filipinos can be treated pretty – shitty. Kids didn’t like me in school either because I was darker skinned. Things spiraled.”

            It hits you just how little you really know about that. The concept of racism isn’t lost on you of course, but you don’t know the relationship between Japan and the Philippines, which is not at all to say that you don’t believe him, just that you wouldn’t have been able to understand that on your own. He reaches out and strokes your cheek with his finger and you realize how sad your expression is.

            “It’s okay,” he says. “Don’t – cry or anything.”

            “I’m not going to cry,” you mutter, pulling your head away. “What do you mean things spiraled?”

            He looks away and takes a drink. His eyes seem to cloud over as he thinks about it and you hope this isn’t too much for him. He shrugs. You try to catch any sort of indication that he’s too upset to keep talking, but he doesn’t seem incredibly troubled.

            “My mom left me with an orphanage when I was four,” he says dully, as if he’s reading from a script. “I was adopted at seven. And by ten I was just… angry. About it all.”

            “I would be, too,” you say automatically and you quickly wonder if that was a bad response. He turns to you quickly and stares at you like he’s incredulous and at first you pull away, nervous that he’s angry, but he’s not offended.

            “I’d be angry if I were _you_ ,” he says. You swallow hard and tilt your head to the side.

            “I was angry,” you tell him quietly. He continues staring at you silently, studying you so intently that you start to feel self-conscious.

            “I was too,” he says finally, looking back to his glass and taking another sip. “I got violent because I was so angry.”

            He turns to slowly meet your eyes. You’re staring at him in shock. You don’t mean to be. You just wonder what exactly he means by _violent_. _You_ were violent. You were a violent child because you didn’t know any better. It didn’t matter that you didn’t mean to hurt other kids – you did, whether you knew you were doing it or not. But Mizuki –

            You try to open your mouth to ask but it’s such a bizarre statement coming from Mizuki that you can’t figure out what to say. Violent? Mizuki fights in Rib, but was he ever unscrupulously vicious? Does Mizuki have some sort of past that he’s kept from you? That he’s ashamed of?

            Is Mizuki ashamed of himself just like you are of yourself?

            “What do you mean…” You’re staring at each other – well, he’s staring at you. You’re practically cowering at him. He knows what you’re about to ask but he beckons to you say it anyway. You don’t know why you find this so intense, but you have to take a breath before you finally say it: “ _Violent?”_

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he smiles at you. But it’s not warm and genuine as usual: it’s sarcastic and it’s a Mizuki you do not know. It’s not angry and defensive like the day Virus and Trip showed up; it’s more dark and scathing, as if the subject has suddenly become morbidly fascinating for him.

            “It just became very easy for me to fight,” he says finally. “It came very naturally. I wanted to fight – all the time. My solution to everything was to fight someone.”

            His face falls into an almost nostalgic sadness, all droopy eyes and furrowed brows. He’s back – the Mizuki you know.

            “I’m really glad you didn’t know me then.”

            Then? Is “then” for Mizuki the same as “now” for you? The thought makes you sweat.

            “Shut up,” is all you can think of to say, and he seems charmed by it. You would have been in love with him then just the same as you are now. You’re sure of it. But you don’t want to say it.

            “Then I got into Rib,” he smiles, “which made it really easy to fight in a more controlled way. Then Dry Juice and – meeting Koujaku was kind of a big deal, too. He was a good influence on me. He helped me. A lot.”

            You nod, mostly because you know he’s expecting you to cringe. But also because while you realized they were close, and had been for a long time, it never occurred to you before that Koujaku could be more than just some drinking buddy that Mizuki’s known for years. He’s not just a friend out of convenience. He was something good for Mizuki. You don’t know if you’re allowed to be retroactively grateful, or if it’s even your place to be glad that Mizuki is better off now, but you are, and Koujaku apparently had some hand in that so you have to admit that you’re glad he’s still around.

            “That’s good,” you say with a small nod. Your hand is still on Mizuki’s thigh. “I’m glad.”

            “You’re glad?” Mizuki asks playfully. “You don’t have some snarky comment to make about Koujaku?”

            You don’t know what to say. You could probably think of a couple if he really wanted you to, but –

            “I didn’t know he meant so much to you,” you tell him honestly. His smile falters a bit, but more in surprise than unhappiness.

            “What did you think he meant?” he asks. “Did you think I just hung out with him for the hell of it?”

            “I really didn’t know,” you shrug. “I didn’t have friends before you.”

            It seems like such an intense and melodramatic thing to say, but you take comfort in knowing that Mizuki understands exactly how true it is now. He sighs and shakes his head.

            “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think about that. I guess it’s hard to gauge things that you not totally comfortable with.”

            You don’t answer but you nod slightly and notice that he squeezes your hand. It’s quiet for a moment before his shoulders heave up and he turns his head to the side, raising his eyebrows and grinning awkwardly.

            “Speaking of Koujaku…”

            You’re interested. You watch him avoid your eyes and start to worry.

            “I told him – and you, I guess – that I forgot you two… hooked up.”

            Oh yeah. You wince.

            “Yeah, I –”

            “No, I – that was a lie. When it first happened, I really wasn’t – I didn’t know you well enough to be interested in you romantically, so I didn’t really think much of it other than in terms of Koujaku – I mean, I guess that’s not my business to tell you about. Koujaku was really freaked out, I told you about that. But not because of you, just because…”

            “Because he’s gay and won’t admit it?” you ask with a smirk.

            “No, no, he… he admitted it,” Mizuki shrugs. “But you were the first guy he ever slept with and – well, he’s bi, really, and he just – he was – and is – going through a lot – I don’t know. Like I said, it’s not my place to tell you about that, but…”

            “What?” you urge. You want to know about Koujaku’s personal life. You can’t help it. You’ll admit it, at least.

            “The more he told me about it, the more… envious I got? Not angry, just…” He tilts his head from side to side as he thinks. He still hasn’t looked you in the eye. “Just wondered what it was like.”

            “Wondered what _what_ was like?”

            He turns to you.

            “What sleeping with you would be like. Then we started hanging out more and when we first started the dates, I _hated_ that you’d slept with him.”

            “Really?” you ask, a smirk dancing along your lips again.

            “Not like, in any sort of scary, angry way,” he says quickly. “I just felt awkward. And envious. And I worried you were more into him than you were into me.”

            “ _No!”_ you shout involuntarily. You’re a little embarrassed at how loudly you shouted and he laughs. “I mean – no. No. No, I’m not interested in Koujaku. Especially not – over you.”

            Mizuki bites the inside of his bottom lip and smiles at you lopsidedly.

            “I know,” he nods once. He downs the rest of his drink and can’t seem to keep a stupid grin off his face. “But I – I was wondering, too… if…”

            “Yeah?” you ask, pulling yourself closer to his lap. You start to sneak your other hand to his opposite leg and push them apart so that you can nestle between them.

            “Are you… planning… on sleeping with other people?”

            You freeze.

            You’re a deer in the headlights again.

            You have no idea what to say. You just blurt it out:

            “I already have.”

            Mizuki’s eyes widen and his head thrusts toward you. Oh, fuck.

            “Oh,” he says. He’s obviously shocked. And probably – fucking disgusted. “Already? Wow. Okay.”

            “Fuck,” you breathe, scrambling into his lap and gripping his face in your hands. “Fuck, is that disgusting?”

            “What? No,” he says quickly. “It’s quick, but it’s – no, it’s not disgusting. We had agreed on it this morning –”

            You’re panicking. It doesn’t matter what he says. You’re already gone.

            “That’s – slutty,” you say. Everyone else was right. You are a slut. “Is that dirty? Am I dirty and gross?”

            “Noiz, no,” Mizuki says, confusion settling on his face. “Fuck, no, you’re not – having sex isn’t a judgment thing.”

            “What does that mean?” you ask frantically. You stare at his lips and refuse to let his face go. He doesn’t seem to mind.

            “It means sleeping with as many or as few people as you want to is up to you, as long as you’re not – happily committed or whatever.”

            “We’re not committed.”

            “No!” Mizuki shouts. “Exactly! We’re not. We agreed on that.”

            “But you didn’t want me to,” you relent. “I can tell.”

            “I was going to ask if you wanted to,” he shrugs. “But if you do, that’s fine. That’s not something I want to control. I mean – I don’t want to control anything. I don’t control you.”

            “You think I’m gross,” you say. Mizuki’s hands find your hips and he shakes you briefly.

            “Noiz, I’m not going to mind-fuck you like that,” he says. “If I tell you something, I mean it. And I’m telling you, it’s alright. We’re not monogamous.”

            “And now we never will be.”

            “I didn’t say that.”

            “No,” you say, “but I assumed it.”

            “Well… don’t.”

            You stare him down.

            “Don’t?”

            “Don’t.”

            “Don’t you think I’m disgusting? Don’t you think I’m selfish and childish and – arrogant?”

            You hear a haggard breath before his lips are on yours and then you’re both struggling to breathe. He has you pinned to the floor in a matter of seconds, his chest on yours and his hands on either side of your head. His mouth starts moving to your chin, his nose pushing your head up to kiss down your neck, and he uses his knees to steady himself over you as his fingers creep into the top of your t-shirt.

            “I don’t think you’re disgusting,” he says, his voice throaty and seductive. “I don’t think you’re selfish. I don’t think you’re arrogant.”

            He brings his fingers down to the hem of your shirt instead and pushes it up, exposing your chest. Fuck, he’s perfect.

            “I don’t think you’re dirty or slutty or childish – I think you’re sexy,” he says. “I mean, you’re safe, right?”

            Your eyes move from Mizuki’s body – Mizuki’s perfect fucking body, that’s climbing down you like a fucking tree – up to the ceiling. You’re a deer, once again.

            “Noiz?” he calls. You can’t believe this.

            “Yeah?”

            “You use protection, right?”

            You lay your elbow over your eyes in complete incredulity.

            “Noiz.”

            “I didn’t – I – ”

            Mizuki sits up and pulls your elbow off your eyes. You’re humiliated. You _know_ you should be having safe sex but no one’s ever given a shit before. Including you. You never really gave a shit whether you lived or died, so a disease or two never really bothered you, either.

            They do now.

            Why didn’t you _think_ Mizuki would care? Of course Mizuki cares, because Mizuki takes care of himself. And thank fuck he does, because he’s too precious to lose, but now you put him in danger _again_. Mizuki would be so much better off _not knowing you –_

            “Noiz, have you had unsafe sex in the past – month?” Mizuki asks. He’s peering down at you and you’re so fucking embarrassed you can’t answer. You simply nod your head. “Oh, Noiz – Noiz, why would you do that?”

            You want to cry. The first person you ever slept with didn’t give a shit. It’s so hard to give a shit when no one else does, but now Mizuki does, and fuck fuck fuck –

            “I just – there’s cures and shit now, and no one worries about that anymore.” You tell him the same thing everyone you slept with told you and he looks at you like you’re the stupidest person on earth.

            “That doesn’t mean they don’t _exist_ anymore, Noiz!” he shouts. He somehow seems more worried than he does angry, and that puts you a bit at ease.

            “I know, I just – didn’t… no one ever…”

            Mizuki gasps slightly. He sits back on his heels and you can’t see him anymore so you sit up dumbly and look at him in despair. He used a condom last night, but you don’t know how bad the blowjob this morning might have been. He’s just realized that. He’s going to kick you out.

            “No one ever what?”

            Your eyes widen. Or maybe not.

            “What?”

            “What were you going to say?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You said, ‘ _no one ever…’_ No one ever what?”

            “No one…” you think for a moment. You’d just sort of rambled. You have to remember your train of thought. “No one ever cared.”

            “No one that you ever slept with before cared if you used protection?”

            You shrug. He stares at you slightly and then leans forward to wrap his arms around your shoulders and you’re fucking shocked.

            “Wh – what are you doing?”

            “They should have cared,” he says, nestling his cheek against your ear. “They should have cared about themselves but – they should have cared about you, too.”

            You urge yourself not to cry. He’s probably soft and warm and perfect.

            “You care,” you say quietly.

            “Of course,” he nods against you. “But don’t worry. I’m here. You should make sure you don’t have anything, though.”

            You take a deep breath and put your hand between his shoulder blades. You can’t feel him but it is so comforting to know he’s here. He’s hugging you. He’d like to _kiss you for fuck’s sake but you ruined that for yourself_ so he’s hugging you instead, and you’re surprised that a hug means just as much to you. Still…

            “I guess this means no sex tonight?” you ask. Mizuki laughs from the back of his throat.

            “Maybe not,” he says sarcastically, shifting to hug you tighter. “But tomorrow we can – go to the hospital.”

            You pause. Then your eyes widen and you pull away from him forcefully.

            You’re four again and all you can see is a fluorescent light and a white coat and it smells like staleness and cotton, like the room has been sucked dry; there’s paper underneath you and the doctor injects you with something and you pray to whatever exists that you can feel this finally and that this all can end. It doesn’t hurt. It’s never hurt. But you’re left alone with all these people you don’t know, who you don’t want to talk to, who keep telling you that this might sting and this might hurt but it _never does_ and why don’t they understand that and if they _do, why would they keep doing things to you that they know should make you feel bad –_

            “What are you doing?” Mizuki asks. You pull your hand away and stare at him. You were pinching yourself here, in this moment. You didn’t realize it. You do realize, however, that you couldn’t feel it. You shake your head.

            “I’m not going to the hospital.”

            He pauses for a second in confusion.

            “No, no,” he says, patting your chest. “Just to get tested.”

            “I’m not getting _tested_ ,” you insist. He doesn’t seem to understand. “I’m not going to a _hospital_ for a doctor to _test me_.”

            “It’s easy, though –”

            “ _Easy?”_ you say. “What, to you, constitutes as _easy?”_

            “Blood tests, which you – won’t feel,” Mizuki says, clearing his throat awkwardly. He seems to be catching on. “Piss in a cup. That’s it, I swear. You’ll be so relieved when you hear them say they didn’t find anything, trust me.”

            No. It doesn’t feel good when the doctors don’t find anything. The look on your father’s face every time they tell him that they _don’t know what’s wrong with you never felt ‘good.’_

            “I don’t think you get it. I _did_ hear that for the first six years of my life. It’s not relieving, _trust me_ ,” you mock.

            Mizuki takes a deep breath and blinks slowly, putting his hands up defensively. You’re angry. With Mizuki. But you don’t really know why. You’re also _not_ angry with Mizuki – not at all. He doesn’t understand, but that’s not his fault. You don’t know what you feel.

            “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t – think about that. But this isn’t the same. They know what they’re looking for here. They’re _hoping_ they don’t find anything. And you’re older, now! They can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. You’re in charge of yourself, not – your parents. I swear. It’s routine.”

            “Routine?” you ask. “What do you mean?”

            “I mean – they do this kind of thing a lot. It’s not – uncommon. I’ve had it done a ton.”

            “A _ton_?” you ask. “Why?”

            “Because I’m _safe_ ,” he replies earnestly. “If you’re going to have a lot of sex, you have to use protection and get tested regularly. Even if these kinds of things don’t effect people a lot anymore, it’s still better safe than sorry.”

            You hate that he’s had enough sex to have to get tested regularly, but you know that’s not your place. You also _hate the idea of going to a hospital_ but he’s right – logically, you understand that you’re in charge of yourself. They don’t even have to know that you can’t feel the prick of a needle, if that’s all they’re going to do. Logic doesn’t exactly win out in this case, though.

            “I just don’t think I can handle it.”

            “Come here,” Mizuki says, scooting his back towards the couch and opening his arms. You crawl into them immediately. He wraps you up in his lap and rests his head against yours. You think he’s even stroking your hair. “The thing is, if you do have something, you could be in danger. If you can’t feel sick, then it’s even harder to know. You should get tested so that you know you’re healthy.”

            “I don’t care if I’m healthy.”

            “You _should_ ,” he growls angrily, shaking you slightly. It’s sort of shocking, how dark his voice can get when he’s concerned. You also sort of love that it’s concerned about you. “You _should_ careabout yourself.”

            “Why?”

            “Because you deserve to.”

            “What does that mean?”

            “It means you deserve to like yourself enough to want to feel good. Always.”

            You’re at a total loss. You don’t understand in the slightest. You don’t know if it’s possible to love yourself as much as you love Mizuki – and that’s when you realize that if you don’t make sure you’re clean, you can’t be with Mizuki anymore. You can’t put Mizuki in danger anymore. You have to go to the hospital. For Mizuki.

            “What if – fuck,” you sigh. “What if someone – does – something?”

            You can’t bring yourself to verbalize it. But Mizuki seems to understand. He hugs you tighter.

            “Hm…” he hums. “Then… I’ll beat the shit out of them.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, originally i felt that i was going to simply avoid the topic of STDs/STIs because -- this is an 18+ game and 18+ fic, therefore i assume most adults already know that just because they don't worry about it in a fic online doesn't mean it's a good representation of real life. also because i know a lot of canon lends itself to the idea that STIs don't exist anymore or there are cures or something, and i sort of like that idea so i want to incorporate that too.
> 
> however, while i dont think anyone under 18 should be reading this, i know that people who are under 18 ARE, so i decided in the end that i wanted to use it as a platform to point this information out. STDs/STIs are a really big fucking deal. reading a lot about sex before you've had many encounters with it itself is both a blessing and a curse, because you can never be sure that the information presented is accurate. we don't live in a futuristic Midorijima, so this is NOT how STIs should be treated today. if you need to know more about them, i *think* [this Planned Parenthood site](http://www.plannedparenthood.org/health-info/stds-hiv-safer-sex/std-testing) is a good one, though it does apply to the US only, i assume? my boyfriend read this last night at my behest, and i asked him for his experience with getting tested himself, because i never have been. 
> 
> basically what i'm saying is that i'm really insecure about this chapter because i really struggled with figuring out how to write it.
> 
> i also had a very long, slightly spoilery paragraph written out about Noiz's development thus far but i'm going to leave that out for now, although i'm a little worried i'm doing a poor job at portraying exactly what mindsets are going on here. i'll wait until i get to Act III to worry about it. for reference, there are 6 chapters left of this Act, and then -- who knows how long Act III will be (probably very short though tbqh) still, we got a way to go
> 
> one thing i'd like to say though is that Mizuki is right when he says you deserve to love yourself enough to want to take care of yourself! please believe that. you are all worth it.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> noiz will come to think of this as the day that nothing he did to mizuki made sense and he'll always feel terrible for it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took me some time because i tried to use my computer in the bathtub last week and it broke

            You glare at the receptionist when she greets you cheerfully and you glare at the nurse when she asks you to come to the back with her. You glare at Mizuki when he squeezes your shoulder and says you’re his big boy as a joke, but that’s mostly because hearing that from him kind of turns you on, which is the last thing you need right now. You glare at the person who takes your blood and you glare at your own dick when you piss into the cup they give you. You glare at the little slot in the bathroom you’re supposed to put the cup when you’re done and if Mizuki hadn’t grabbed your hand in time, you would have flipped off the receptionist who told you to have a good day. You really do not like the hospital.

            But then Mizuki leads you to his couch and wraps you in a blanket. He lets the cats in and then joins you, laying you down and then cuddling next to you, his back against the couch and his lips grazing your collarbone. He snuggles his face into your neck and you pull the blanket around you both tighter. You’re not as vulnerable afterwards like you thought you’d be, but you like to be this close to Mizuki. He smells incredible, like soap and cologne and you don’t know how. You smell like sterilization and shame.

            Maybe it’s just that time has passed. Maybe you don’t think about it as much as you think you do. Maybe you were too focused on hating the hospital that you didn’t actually remember _why_ you hate it. You’re not sure why you weren’t as effected as you thought you’d be. Maybe it’s the same thing as rabbits – you were six years old when you had that nightmare, the one where the giant green rabbit chased you down a narrow hallway and trapped you under his paw, the one that was only more terrifying because even in a dream you couldn’t even imagine the kind of pain you’d feel if you were trapped between four claws bigger than your own head. You cried for days but no one came to help you and that was when you realized you couldn’t afford to be scared. Fear was not a luxury that was provided to you, and you instead had to love them. You loved rabbits, you convinced yourself. You said it so much that eventually, you really did.

            That might be what happened here. You didn’t have the luxury to be afraid of hospitals anymore. You didn’t have the luxury to shy away from nurses and doctors anymore. You didn’t have the luxury to ignore your broken fingers and deep gashes. One thought of Mizuki’s determined face, the one that said, “ _You need to go get tested so that I can be with you_ ,” and you realized you had to do it, no matter how scared you may have been at one time.

            You had to do it for Mizuki. If you wanted to be with him, you had to do this for him. You’re nervous that the results aren’t in your favor, but Mizuki has been relentlessly positive about it – and you’ve never really known anyone to get _sex diseases_ anymore anyway, not to mention almost everything can be treated these days; still – you’re scared Mizuki might think you’re dirty if something _is_ wrong. You know it’s unfounded. You do know, rationally, Mizuki doesn’t think that of you. Nonetheless, it’s a little nerve-wracking.

            But he’s got his arms wrapped around you. He’s breathing into you. His skin is touching yours and you can’t believe it. Even after all this, he still wants to be _this_ close to you. You’d smile to yourself if you weren’t also _incredibly frustrated that you have to wait to touch him_.

            You want to _be_ with him again. You want him inside of you again – he wants _you_ inside of him, and without a condom, no less, he admitted that. He won’t even let you jerk him off because of all the cuts on your hands. It’s fair, and maybe this is entirely your fault, but it’s aggravating. The worst part is that the more you think about _not_ having sex with him, the more you remember it in great detail. You remember his small, surprised groans, his throaty whines, his tiny flinches and little blinks and his slack-jawed expression when he first entered you. He even sort of treated you like he was _lucky_ to get to be with you, even though you’ve been convinced since day one that it’s the other way around.

            But then you – didn’t know what to do when he didn’t want to be your boyfriend. Then you called Virus and Trip. Then you ruined everything and now all you can do is just –

            “Wait,” you mutter.

            “Hm?” Mizuki rubs his eye against your shoulder.

            “So now we just wait,” you clarify. He nods into you.

            “We do,” he murmurs. His arm wraps around your hips and clings to you tightly. You sigh.

            “Sucks,” you mutter. He wiggles against you more and you consider telling him to stop because it’s driving you crazy that his body is against you like this but you can’t actually touch it.

            “I’m sorry,” he says. “Try not to think about it. I’m sure you’re fine, anyway.”

            “No,” you shake your head. “Not waiting for them to call. Waiting to touch you.”

            “Mm,” Mizuki hums against your neck. Just his hum is making you sweat. You know the last thing you should do is get too excited but _please, Mizuki, keep moaning like that…_

            “I really want to touch you,” you tell him, wrapping your hand around his shoulder and turning to speak into his ear. “I want you to touch _me_.”

            “I want to touch you too,” Mizuki says, muffled by your neck. He cranes into you and you take a deep breath.

            “You wanted me inside you, didn’t you?”

            Mizuki gasps. His legs close around yours and you’re definitely struggling. You want Mizuki so bad right now.

            “You wanted to feel what my dick was like inside you, isn’t that what you said?” you continue. Mizuki moans against you and you squeeze his shoulder. “Isn’t it, Mizuki?”

            “Uh huh,” he nods, his voice high and squeaky. He is so hot you’re going to lose your mind. You know you shouldn’t do this. You _know_ you can’t _do_ anything, no matter how horny you get.

            “Maybe soon,” you breathe. “Maybe soon I’ll fuck the hell out of you.”

            Mizuki croons loudly and that’s when you first see his hips buck against you. You look down and notice the bulge in his leather pants. He’s dry humping your thigh.

            Oh, shit. You don’t have to actually touch at all for that.

            He’s _that_ desperate. _You’re_ that desperate – but in complete honesty, it’s much hotter watching Mizuki come undone, so you’re going to ride this one out before focusing on yourself.

            “Mizuki, are you so desperate that you’re going to hump my leg?” you ask, your voice low as you chastise him. “You’re going to dry hump me like a dog?”

            Mizuki whines and nods against you again. He can’t string words together; he’s already one big whimpering mess. Good.

            “I can’t believe you,” you say. His hips start to thrust faster. “You want me that bad?”

            “Uh huh,” he mewls.

            “You can’t wait?”

            “Nuh uh.”

            You take his hair in your hand and pull his head up. He gasps and winces but doesn’t pull away.

            “You said you liked it rough, right?”

            His response gets lost in his throat, but it’s a definite affirmative. He nods and swallows loudly, then tries to get out the smallest, “ _Y—Yes,”_ you’ve ever heard.

            “What would everyone say?” you rebuke, letting go of his hair and shifting your upper torso underneath his, still permitting him to hump your thigh but also allowing yourself the room to graze his neck with your teeth. You breathe on him lightly as you speak, “What would everyone _say_ if they knew the most fearsome Rib leader on the island was sitting here, _whining_ on his couch to come?”

            You leave a slow, romantic kiss against his neck first, slowly puckering your lips, wetting the skin with your saliva, before biting as hard as you can. He groans loudly, the pain evident in his cry, but starts to hump you faster as he careens into you. You cut him some slack and swirl your tongue around the hickey you just gave him. His breath is shaky in your ear. You smirk.

            “Just imagine what it’ll be like when I finally fuck you,” you say, your lips grazing his skin. “I’ll push in _so slow_ , slow enough to drive you crazy. Too slow for you, you’ll end up fucking yourself against my dick. You _are_ that desperate for my dick after all, aren’t you?”

            He tries to answer but again can’t get the words out; he simply nods with a strangled sob as you leave another hickey, this one a little bit below the previous one. You part your lips, suck his skin between your teeth, and hardly worry about the awkward suctioning sound because he’s moaning so loud you can’t even hear your lips smacking. You bite and try to move your head to see his face, but you can’t. You’d like to _see_ him enjoy this.

            You pull away and push him above you so that you’re facing each other. His upper cheeks are a ruddy red and his eyes are watering. You almost let your dominant façade slip away. Your mouth hangs open in a split second of unadulterated admiration: Mizuki’s pleasured face is the most incredible image you’ve ever seen.

            “Look at me,” you say eventually. “Watch me while you fuck me.”

            “I’m – I’m close,” he says pitifully, squeezing your thigh between his legs tightly – well, what you imagine is tightly – and rolling his lips inward as he turns his head away.

            “Nuh uh,” you say, pulling his face back to you. “Are you pretending that you’re fucking me?”

            His eyes are closed and he takes a moment to gather his wits, but then he nods solemnly.

            “Then _look at me_ ,” you growl. “ _Open your eyes and watch me as you fuck me.”_

“ _Fuck!”_ he cries out, falling down against your shoulder again and you watch his hips pummel your thigh as he hugs you tight, moaning wildly into your shirt. _“Noiz! Fuck,”_ he cries against you. Then he babbles incoherently and this is absolutely the hottest orgasm you’ve ever seen. It feels like he’s trying to absorb you; he pulls you into him and clinches you like you might run away otherwise, the thought of which is absolutely absurd. You would never run away from this. He’s _loud_ and _animalistic_ and _beautiful,_ even when he’s desperate.

            Mizuki is having an orgasm on top of you. _Because_ of you. You realize it sounds ridiculous, but this might be one of the most romantic things you’ve ever experienced.

            He’s soft and light and high-pitched when he finally lifts his head and looks at you, clear embarrassment sweeping over his face. He’s flushed, exhausted; his long bangs hang limply into his eyes. He can barely look into yours.

            “Sorry,” he whimpers. You can’t stop the big grin that spreads across your lips.

            “ _Sorry_?” you mock. He scowls.

            “Shut up,” he says, removing himself from the couch and walking awkwardly out of the room.

            “No!” you shout. “Come back!”

            “I have to change my fucking pants!” he calls angrily, and by the time he’s back, sweatpants clinging to his hips, you still haven’t stopped laughing. He sits forcefully on your shins and crosses his arms.

            “You’re cute when you pout,” you coo. He turns to you abruptly.

            “Don’t say that!” he shouts. “I’m already embarrassed!”

            “Why are you embarrassed?” you ask, sitting up and wrapping your arms around him. “You were close to me, so you got horny… it’s understandable. I have that effect on people.”

            “Whatever,” he mutters. “You loved it.”

            “I did,” you say quickly, pushing your lips against his cheek. “I especially am going to love watching you explain those marks on your neck.”

            “Ugh,” he rolls his eyes, his fingers flying up to his neck and caressing the bruises lightly.

            “There’s no point in lying about it,” you say. “Everyone knows you’ve been seeing me. Everyone knows you’re mine.”

            “I’m yours?” he asks. He’s still smiling slightly but his tone is much more serious now. You pull back a bit.

            “Oh,” you say quietly. Maybe that sounded a little too possessive. And everything was going so _well_. “Not literally. Obviously. Since we’re not –”

            Monogamous. Since you’re not monogamous. Since you’re not boyfriends. Mizuki may be seeing you. Mizuki may want you so bad that he’ll hump against your leg until he comes in his pants.

            But Mizuki isn’t yours.

            “Hey,” he says, putting his hand gingerly on your waist. He’s suddenly soft and airy again. “I’m sorry that I – got carried away there.”

            “What?” you ask incredulously. Carried away? He thinks he needs to apologize for what just happened?

            “I didn’t mean to get so – I didn’t mean to do that. I just think we should be careful… until we… know.”

            “Oh,” you nod. “That was okay though, wasn’t it?”

            “Yeah, but… I meant to ask…  if you were okay. You didn’t – have any bad memories?”

            Oh. The hospital.

            It only happened a couple hours ago but it’s hard to care much about it after Mizuki having an orgasm on top of you.

            You shrug. Now that he asks, you remember that having to recount your experiences with Virus and Trip wasn’t great. And you got a little anxious at the questions about the injuries on your body (“My boyfriend’s cats,” you’d muttered, and they seemed happy with that answer). And when you think about it, before Virus and Trip, it had been some time since you’d had sex, so you’re fairly sure you’re clean too. Mizuki was particularly awkward when he asked if you’d been safe with Koujaku, but thankfully the answer to that was yes, though you definitely didn’t let him know that that’s only because of Koujaku.

            Really, there’s only one thing that’s bothering you –

            “Except,” you say feebly. Mizuki looks up to meet yours eyes.

            “Yeah?” he asks. You can’t look at him.

            “I’m supposed to – _call previous partners_ ,” you say, mocking the nurse who told you, though Mizuki wouldn’t really know that.

            “Oh, yeah,” he nods. “You haven’t done that already?”

            You shake your head.

            “You really need to do that.”

            “I know.”

            “It’s important.”

            “I _know.”_

            “Can – _can_ you let them know?”

            You scowl at the floor. Mizuki wants to know if this person you slept with the day after your first sexual experience with him was someone who took advantage of you. Mizuki is wondering if, in the span of just a few hours after you first had sex with him, you also had sex with someone who convinced you to let them do bad things to you. He still feels bad for you when he shouldn’t. It would be taking advantage of his emotions to let him think you didn’t deserve to feel the way you did yesterday when you absolutely did.

            “Yes,” you mutter. “I can let them know.”

            “Go do it.” He nudges you with his shoulder. You perk up.

            “No,” you say. “I’ll call them later.”

            “Do it _now_ ,” Mizuki urges. “Just go outside. I won’t listen. And then afterwards… we’ll figure out how to make it so that _you_ don’t have to wait.”

            This is fucked up. He’s sent you outside and is in his home, getting ready to make you come once you’re done _calling the other people you’ve fucked._ Mizuki knowing that you had sex with _anyone_ else is fucked up. But knowing that it was Virus and Trip is what makes you – want to find Virus and Trip and let them fuck you into oblivion some more. It’s like they’re a disease and the only cure is more of them; a vaccination that uses too much of the disease strand to fix itself and you just end up sicker and sicker every time. Wanting Virus and Trip so much makes you feel like shit: so shitty that you can only think of one deserving punishment, which is – Virus and Trip. It’s a vicious fucking cycle.

            You consider letting Mizuki think you’ve called someone but waiting until later to actually do it. You hate that you can’t truthfully say you don’t have their number because you do – you have it in your Coil and you have your phone, so you could easily call them without Mizuki knowing whom you’re talking to. You have Virus and Trip’s number programmed into your Coil, but not your little brother’s, who you actually _wish_ you could speak to, as opposed to Virus and Trip, who you wish you could simply forget.

            You wonder if calling them from Mizuki’s place is a slap in his face. To call the people he hates most from his own porch? Where his _cats_ live? You pull out your phone and pretend to dial – then you consider what you might do if you do actually call later. If you call when you’re alone, at your own place, where they could invite themselves over and you’d be helpless to say no. At least here at Mizuki’s the conversation has to end – you don’t want to see them if it means you have to leave Mizuki.

            Your fingers select their number on their own and you have the phone pressed so tight against your ear as it rings that you’re afraid you might hit a button on accident and end the call. You’re nervous. Please don’t pick up.

            “Hello?”

            You groan.

            “ _Hello_?”

            “It’s Noiz,” you say immediately. It’s Virus on the other end.

            “Ah!” he says cheerfully. “No video?”

            “ _No_ ,” you seethe. “I’m on a phone, not Coil.”

            “Too bad,” he says. “I’d love to see your face right now.”

            You don’t respond to that. You wonder if Mizuki ever thinks about your face when you’re not around.

            “I have to tell you something.”

            “Hm?” Virus hums. You’re about to continue when his voice becomes distant and he says, “It’s Noiz-san.” You hear Trip coo gleefully in the background and want to slap them both.

            “Listen to me,” you say loudly. “I got tested. For sex stuff. I’m supposed to tell you to get tested, too. That’s it. Bye.”

            “Wait!” Virus shouts, and you knew he would, and you don’t hang up, no matter how badly you want to. “When were you were tested?”

            “Today. Just now. Bye.”

            “Wait,” Virus says again, this time far quieter. He knows you aren’t going to hang up. “Who else have you had relations with besides us?”

            You scoff.

            “I’m not telling you that.”

            “Was it Mizuki-san?”

            “Don’t say his name.”

            “Well,” Virus posits, and you can see him taking his glasses off to wipe them on his tie from here. “I can assure you that we are clean. If Mizuki, however, has anything –”

            “He _doesn’t_ ,” you spit. “And he was safe, anyway.”

            “So it was Mizuki-san?”

            You sigh gutturally.

            “Just make sure you have a condom next time,” you say and a few seconds of silence pass before you fully comprehend what you just said. _Make sure. Condom. Next time._

“So there will be a next time?” Virus asks in amusement.

            “I didn’t mean that,” you say quickly, stumbling on your words. He laughs.

            “Well thank you for the phone call, Noiz-san,” he says. “At least you aren’t too arrogant to let someone know that you put them at risk. See? You’re not as selfish as you think you are.”

            You blink a few times as you stare at the ground. There are pieces of dry cat food spilled everywhere. Everything is covered in fur. You want Virus to keep telling you nice things.

            “It’s nice that you are open with Mizuki-san as well,” he says. You don’t tell him not to say his name again because your lips won’t move for some reason. “What an honest, open relationship. We’ll see you soon. Hopefully.”

            He hangs up. Your nostrils flare as you keep the phone to your ear long after you’ve heard the dial tone, in hopes that he might come back and keep praising you. _It’s nice that you are open with Mizuki._ It would be, wouldn’t it? You should be, shouldn’t you? You slept with Virus and Trip without a condom and then you let Mizuki put his lips around you in the shower afterwards without warning him.

            You drop your phone on the ground as you rush inside. You slide the door open so quickly that you startle Mizuki, who’s sitting on the couch with two cats in his lap. You don’t remember which ones they are. He’s petting them with the biggest, happiest, most genuine smile on his face that you’ve ever seen. He puts his hand to his chest.

            “You scared me,” he laughs. “Did you ca –”

            “It was Virus and Trip.”

            Silence.

            You blink once.

            Mizuki’s face is frozen. He’s staring up at you from the couch, mouth stuck in an open smile.

            He blinks once.

            You watch his chest heave as he breathes out. Heavily. He was holding his breath.

            _You’re_ holding your breath.

            A few more moments of silence precede him finally asking:

            “…Where are Virus and Trip?”

            He’s still smiling. He’s completely motionless other than his lips when speaking. The cats have even started to bunt into his hand, wondering where the pets have gone.

            “Not _here_ ,” you say. “The people I called. It was Virus and Trip.”

            Now the smile disappears. You have never seen someone’s eyes change so drastically so quickly. Actually – they’ve changed almost four times in the past two seconds. But they’re big and they’re searching and they want answers. First he’s shocked – his face simply falls from smiling confusion to complete and utter shock and… hurt. Then he’s angry: his brows furrow and his lips go thin. Then he’s bewildered, then he’s upset, then he’s angry again. Your throat closes up and you’re afraid you might cry when he finally looks at you again.

            “Oh.”

            It’s all he says. You roll your lips in and bite down hard. This is it. This is truly the end. The kiss on the couch when he was drunk didn’t ruin things; your Paris suggestion didn’t ruin things; not even unprotected sex ruined things. It’s this. If this is going to end, it’s going to be right now.

            “I’m so sorry,” you say quietly. You start breathing rapidly and your heart is probably beating out of your chest. You love him so much. You hope to fuck he doesn’t give up on you now.

            He shakes his head lightly but can’t look at you. He’s searching the floor. Maybe it has the answers he’s looking for.

            “It’s – it’s okay,” he stammers, just as quietly as you.

            You can’t believe those words. You think that’s worse than if he’d just kicked you out. You break down.

            “No – no, it’s not,” you say, rushing toward him and then falling to your knees between his legs. He hardly reacts. “It’s not okay, I – I’m so sorry, Mizuki. I – You were so good to me and then I…” You grab his hand and rub the back of it against your cheek. You’ve seen people do this in movies – movies you’ve watched with Mizuki. You can’t feel it, but he can. You hope he wants to be feeling it.

            “Noiz, don’t,” he says softly. He doesn’t pull his hand away, so you think he’s talking about your apology, but you can’t stop.

            “No, I – I was unsafe. And I was dirty and I let them fuck me and then you – I thought I was ruined but then you loved me. You _loved me_ anyway and I put you in danger. I can’t believe I did this.” Trip’s quiet threat against Mizuki the day you took him to Koujaku’s hangs threateningly in your thoughts. Mizuki doesn’t know the extent of the danger still and you can’t bring yourself to tell him just now.

            “Noiz…” Mizuki’s voice is so soft, like it’s wrapping you up in the same blanket he put around your shoulders when you first got home. If you could pet Sake, he would feel just like Mizuki’s voice right now. “I don’t love you in spite of what you’ve been through. I just love _you_.”

            “You love me?”

            Mizuki sighs. You stare at his sad smile.

            “I definitely feel strongly about you,” he says with a light laugh.

            “You love me even though I – did that with them?”

            Mizuki winces and his smile fades into a confused frown. You stand up and put yourself in his lap, pushing him backwards against the couch and straddling his thighs. You don’t want to have sex; you just want to feel intimate.

            “I’m not mad at you for anything,” he tells you. “It’s just – fuck. I thought I was envious of _Koujaku_.”

            “You don’t like that I slept with them?”

            Mizuki bites his bottom lip as he thinks. Then he shakes his head.

            “Because you’re jealous? You don’t like hearing about people I’ve fucked before? Like when I told you about the people when I first got here?”

            Your thoughts are coming a million miles a minute. You can’t stop asking questions the second the pop into your head. Mizuki closes his eyes slowly. You shake his shoulders lightly to encourage him to answer.

            “Of course I’m a little jealous of people that get to be with you,” he says. “ _I_ want to be with you. But I’m not – angry. And I’m _not_ jealous of the people who took advantage of you, that’s not – that’s not romantic or intimate. That’s not the kind of way I want to be with you.”

            “What way do you want to be with me?” you ask. This is _so much better than Virus praising you_.

            “I don’t know,” he whines. “I’m not ready or able to be with anyone seriously yet. I still need to help myself.”

            “Let me help you,” you say but he shakes his head immediately.

            “No, that’s not how that works,” he says. “I have to be secure with myself before I can be secure with someone else. It’s hard to hear that someone loves you if you don’t think you deserve it.”

            Does Mizuki think he doesn’t deserve to be loved? You want to cry. If anyone doesn’t deserve it, it’s _you_. _You_ never deserved any of this. The idea that Mizuki might actually think he could be nearly as bad as you is appalling.

            “I love you,” you tell him. “I didn’t want to freak you out but you already said it. I love you.”

            “It doesn’t freak me out,” he smiles. “I just – I don’t want to control you. I don’t think I can be a _boyfriend_ yet. So you should do whatever you want to do because we’re not committed to each other. And if what you want to do is – those two… then… fine.”

            You want to say that it’s not. It’s not _those two_ that you want. What you _want_ is Mizuki, but you want all of him and you want him to want all of you. But it’s moments like these – when you know that Mizuki is hurting and that he’s hurting because of you – that you _do_ want Virus and Trip.

            He still doesn’t want you. He doesn’t want to be your boyfriend. You’re trying to find something deeper here, something about the fact that he still _cares_ for you, that he just said he _loves you_ , but it doesn’t make you feel any better. Maybe he’s more aware of how terrible you are than you thought. He loves you. But he doesn’t want to be with you. He knows you can’t be any good for him. So you’ll have to take what you can get.

            “I don’t want them. I want you. But you don’t want me.”

            “It’s not that I don’t want you, Noiz,” he sighs. “It’s that I can’t commit to that yet.”

            “I don’t understand why.”

            “Noiz…”

            He turns his face away when his eyes fill with tears. Wait, what? You’re scared. You didn’t mean to make him cry. He purses his lips in an effort to keep the tears from falling.

            “I’m sorry,” you plead. “Please. Don’t cry. What’s wrong?”

            He doesn’t answer right away. His grip on the couch below you tightens as he continues to fight the tears and you stroke his cheek until he turns to you.

            “The last time I committed to something I loved, I put them all in danger,” he says, his voice shaking but strong. “I loved them too much. I put too much pressure on them to be something to me that they couldn’t always be and it was unfair of me but I was so insecure. I just wish people…” He finally starts to really cry and you’re terrified. “I just wish people would stop leaving me.”

            “ _Shit_ ,” you breathe, gathering his head against your chest and stroking his hair. This is unprecedented. Strong Mizuki, sobbing against your body, tears staining your t-shirt. This should be the other way around.

            You cradle his head as he cries, fisting your shirt in his palm and you don’t know what to say. This is about Dry Juice and Morphine, and you realize just how much blame Mizuki must be carrying around for it still. And you realize how unfair that is, that on top of nightmares about the night he was manipulated and abducted and brainwashed by _who fucking knows_ , he still blames himself for what happened to everyone else. He still thinks about it every day. You know he does. Because you know what it’s like to put someone you love in danger on accident. Because you know what it’s like to fuck up beyond repair. Because you know what it’s like to know you’re a monster.

            But Mizuki isn’t a monster.

            “Please don’t cry,” you squeak, unsure how to handle a sobbing Mizuki. He’s a mess and you hate it. You’ll sit here and hold him for hours if that’s what he needs. You just wish he didn’t need it.

            “I’m sorry,” he snivels. You shake your head.

            “No, don’t – don’t be sorry, I just… I don’t know what to do. How can I help you?”

            “It’s fine,” he says, pulling away and looking down at the couch. He sniffs loudly and wipes the tears away from his eyes. His skin is flushed and his eyes are red and you can’t believe that he looks beautiful even now. When you sob like this, you’re a disgusting wreck. Nothing about Mizuki isn’t perfect.

            “I want to help,” you say. He shakes his head.

            “You don’t need to, I just… it just gets to me sometimes.”

            “I’m sorry I did all this,” you say.

            “Stop,” he replies in frustration. “You sleeping with someone else is not the reason why I’m crying. And it’s not the reason for anything.”

            You regard him carefully. He just said he was jealous – he was jealous of Koujaku, he was jealous of Virus and Trip – he was jealous and he was upset that people took advantage of you. He was worried that you were going to leave him, wasn’t he?

            “I’m not going anywhere,” you tell him. He nods.

            “I know.”

            He’s not concerned that you’ll leave. Of course he’s not. Why would you leave _him_? You smile to yourself.

            “What?” he asks upon noticing your smile. It widens.

            “Nothing.” You stand up. You’ve done enough damage today. “I think I should go.”

            “You don’t have to go. I told you. You didn’t make me cry.”

            “I know,” you nod. “But I think I should...take a night to myself.”

            Mizuki licks his lips and then nods.

            “Of course,” he says. “If that’s what you need.”

            You stand in front of him in an awkward silence for a few moments, but neither of you say another word. A brown cat comes up to your feet but you sidestep it and nod to yourself.

            “Okay,” you say quietly, heading to the hallway. “Bye.”

            You’re down the hallway and about to open the front door when you hear Mizuki’s feet pad into the hallway too, following you.

            “Hey,” he calls. You stop and turn to him.

            “I’ll call you tomorrow,” you tell him. He shakes his head.

            “Fine, but… I love you.”

            Your throat closes up. You fucked Virus and Trip less than a day after you fucked Mizuki. You both had to get tested for sexually transmitted infections because of it. You told Mizuki this less than a day after it happened.

            He still loves you.

            You cannot fathom Mizuki. You cannot fathom what you did to deserve him.

            “I love you too,” you say, far quieter than you expect.

            Mizuki smiles as you leave his place. This would have been so much easier if he had gotten angry. This would have been so much easier if he had dumped you.

            It doesn’t get easier when you get a message in the morning from Mizuki asking if you still wanted any help. It doesn’t get easier when it finally clicks and you ask him what he had in mind, and it doesn’t get easier when he sends back several pictures of himself that you find yourself jerking off to all day. It doesn’t get easier when you finally get the call that you’re clean – you’re _clean,_ and you can finally be with Mizuki again.

            It doesn’t get easier to call Virus and Trip, knowing that Mizuki is _okay_ with it, though you do it anyway. You wonder when being this in love with someone who loves you back will get any fucking easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i wonder.... how shitty has this fic gotten.... then i get like 2 comments on a chapter i felt i screwed up and i'm like ah yeah i knew it... 
> 
> then i realize... i got like, 15 kudos on this stupid thing in like, a 10-hour span of time, so i just wanted to say... yes, comments make my life, but thank you. so much for supporting me in any way. the hits mean so much. the kudos mean so much. the bookmarks mean so much. my life is at a low point right now and writing is the one thing i have and knowing that people give a shit about it is so important so i just wanted to say thank you.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noiz will come to think of today aNDDdd [01100101 01110010 01110010 01101111 01110010 00100000 01100101 01110010 01110010 01101111 01110010 00100000 01100101 01110010 01110010 01101111 01110010](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xq76aQRmbQA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **cw** talk about bdsm/consent, dubcon (i mean it's all been dubcon with vitri so more of the same there but), um... i think that's it? noiz thinks of his brother for a moment during sex though it is NOT a sexual thought, that could be jarring
> 
> this chapter took a long time because my computer broke again for no reason and they had to send it away to be fixed. and also because i've had a 2-day long headache that makes doing anything really hard and proofreading was hell so i'm really sorry if there are still typos
> 
> i have a pretty big (to me) announcement in the end notes :D
> 
> ps: you guys made me cry last chapter because i was a dick and was like "no one pays attention to me" and you guys all left so many nice comments and i teared up at least twice. i'm so sorry i didn't get around to replying to all of them but i've read all of them over and over again. you all mean the world to me /m\

            You always thought you were too cool for routines. Routines were for old people – people who needed structure and stability because they were too boring and predictable to do anything remotely exciting. Having an extra thirty minutes to stray from a schedule was adventurous for some people. Having two blonds on either side of you, licking up your neck and kissing down your back was adventurous for you. Actually, no. This isn’t even particularly adventurous for you.

            This is routine. The sad fucking truth is that you like the pattern you’ve fallen into: letting Virus and Trip destroy you and then having Mizuki put the pieces back together.

            The thing is, Virus and Trip don’t break you more than you’ve already been broken. Their words can be brutal and you’re still not convinced they won’t try to murder you one day, but they’re not as fucking clever as they like to think they are and you can finally see right through them. They break you, to be sure: they find your daily insecurity and they latch on like feeding piglets. And if you’re not particularly overwhelmed that day, they’ll find an old anxiety of yours and beat it into the ground again. They _break_ you. But it’s nothing that Mizuki can’t fix.

            And Mizuki sometimes finds a piece you didn’t even realize was missing. He doesn’t always know what to do with it, but the fact that he finds it and that you can set it aside for later is more than anyone else has ever done for you in your entire life. It’s more than you’ve ever done for yourself. He’ll pick up the piece again once he’s figured out where it goes and he’ll put it back into place and you’ll feel whole again –

            You’ll feel whole. You’ve never felt whole in the first place; you can’t feel whole _again_.

            Before Mizuki, it didn’t matter to you if you lived or died.

            You take a deep breath and stare at Virus’s shoulder as he leans forward to trail his tongue around your collarbone. You can’t feel it.

            You think you’d like to live long enough to feel whole.

            “Of course, we brought plenty of condoms this time,” Virus tells you softly. You don’t know why he and Trip are being so gentle. They know you can’t feel it and it’s not getting you hard. You suppose they’re doing it for themselves but you’re hard-pressed to believe that given the choice, _this_ is what they’d decide to do.

            You grunt in acknowledgement at his statement. This is your routine. Let them do whatever they want while you zone out. You faintly remember a time when you found a lot more pleasure in this. The first time they fucked you, for instance – when they double penetrated you and you could actually feel something. You felt them stretching you open. The only other time you felt it quite that intensely was when Mizuki fucked you slowly. Gently. Intensely.

            “We very much appreciated how open you were with us, Noiz-san,” Virus’s voice calls from below you again. You roll your eyes.

            “You told me that already.”

            “I wanted to tell you again,” he says. You feel teeth on your skin and almost yelp. Trip’s head is buried in your lower back. He’s leaving a line of hickeys just above your ass.

            “Don’t do that,” you mutter, wiggling against him – and then you freeze. He and Virus stop what they’re doing and lift their heads to stare at you. You can only meet Virus’s eyes, and once you do, you turn away as quickly as possible.

            “Don’t do what?” Trip asks. You stare up at ceiling and refuse to answer. You didn’t mean to say that. You shouldn’t have said that.

            “He doesn’t want you leaving marks,” Virus scolds him mockingly. Fuck. _Fuck_. It was an automatic response; it fell from your mouth before you could stop yourself. And Mizuki probably isn’t even going to care. You’re probably already bruised anyway, so now you’re going to get the brunt of it from Virus and Trip _and_ have to see Mizuki’s gorgeous face fall when he sees marks from someone else on your body. You wince just thinking about the way his lips scrunch together and his eyebrows wrinkle when he’s sad. There’s a part of you that still thinks he’ll dump you over your sleeping with other people – especially these two – but you can’t help it. It’s an addiction. Plus, you want to believe Mizuki when he says he wouldn’t leave you. You want him to love you so much that he wouldn’t even leave you over this.

            “Hm… you never minded marks before,” Trip moans, his voice low and questioning. Of course, it’s a false curiosity. You all know exactly what’s going on.

            “Ah,” Virus hums, tilting his head back. “But now he’s dating – Mizuki-san, isn’t he?”

            It’s that _politeness_ in his voice, that blithe sigh that drips with banality, as if bringing up Mizuki is the same as bringing up an old friend of his that he isn’t as close to as he’d like to be. That’s what makes you snap more than anything.

            “How many times do I have to tell you not to say his _fucking_ name?” you seethe between your teeth. Oh – another routine. Virus cocks his head at you.

            “I’m not sure I recall you ever saying that to me.”

            Trip’s nails are running sharply down your arm when you pull it away and lash out. It’s not an extraordinarily explosive show of anger – you grab Virus’s chin and pull his head to the side, but that’s as far as you get before Trip is on top of you. He pulls your arms back roughly, but you don’t know if it hurts. He holds them tight behind you and you can’t manage to worm your way out of his grip. Virus rubs his chin with the tips of his fingers and his gaze turns from his usual phony unpredictability to a direct and absolute certainty. Virus doesn’t have a routine but he always knows what’s coming next. Because he’s always in charge of what comes next.

            Trip doesn’t say a word as he holds you against his chest. It all happened so quickly but you’re out of breath.

            “Noiz.”

            You’re positive you just felt chills down your spine. Virus is not calling for your attention. He’s demanding it. Your eyes grow tired in immediate submission.

            “We saw you out with him.” His voice is normal again. You’d be surprised that he isn’t threatening to kill you – or actually killing you – if anything about the two of them surprised you anymore. “We were just wondering how it went.”

            You wouldn’t answer even if your throat weren’t dried out. You try to swallow and it bubbles loudly in your Adam’s apple.

            “It all looked quite romantic. What a lovely dinner. And at the nicest restaurant on the island. I’m sure that was the best meal he’s had in quite a while, given that he’s – well. You know.”

            You pull wildly against Trip’s arms. He doesn’t budge. You want to knock Virus’s teeth into his stomach.

            “I know what? What is he?” you snarl. “Say it. What were you gonna say?”

            Virus smiles but he doesn’t continue the thought.

            “I am confused about one thing, however,” he says. You hear your breath escape your nose like a wild bull and if you could, you’d be running your foot against the ground like one, too.

            “Either fuck me or get out,” you growl throatily. “I’m not here to listen to you talk about him.”

            “Ah,” Virus says, tapping his chin. “But that’s my question. You want us to fuck you?” He grins wider than you’ve ever seen, but it’s not sincere. Trip grins and it’s terrifying because you never want to be around on the rare occasion that Trip is genuinely amused. Virus grins and it’s terrifying because you know he’s never genuinely anything.

            You will him not to ask what you know he’s going to ask. Please. Please don’t ask it. If he asks it, you’ll have to think about it and if you think about it, you’ll have to attack him again, and if you attack him again –

            “Aren’t you cheating on Mizuki?”

            You close your eyes. You feel your eyeballs roll into the back of your head. You take a deep breath and find yourself calmer than you thought you’d be.

            “Isn’t having sex with us cheating?”

            You’re calm. Your heart isn’t racing. You don’t think your palms are sweating. You don’t have that usual urge to crunch your fingers into a fist.

            “Isn’t it strange… that your boyfriend doesn’t mind you sleeping with other people?”

            You’re calm. You’re a fucking garden. A garden of cats.

            You open your eyes.

            “He’s not my boyfriend,” you tell Virus, who is stone-faced. He knew that already. He just wanted you to say it. “We’re not together. And we’re not committed.”

            Virus raises his eyebrows in mock surprise.

            “Oh,” he shrugs. His voice has gone back to being just as false as the rest of him. “Well. My mistake. How odd, that he wants to go out on dates with you but doesn’t want to be your boyfriend. Why do you think that is?”

            Trip’s hold on you tightens again as he shifts on his legs to get more comfortable. His knee repositions and juts harshly into your back. You can feel it against your spine.

            “Do you think it’s because of you?” Virus asks. “Did you do anything wrong?”

            One time Emmerich came to your door – you were about nine, so he must have been around seven – and he told you that he was being punished for pushing someone at school. You asked him what his punishment was and he said he wasn’t sure. Mom told him what he did was bad, and that he was going to be punished but then she sent him away and didn’t bring it up again, not even at dinner. You told him not to push anyone else. You told him to never even _touch_ anyone else. You were scared that if he ended up the same as you, they’d lock him away too, and then you’d never see him.

            “Maybe he just changed his mind after a few dates,” Virus says. “That happens sometimes. People aren’t who we think they’re going to be.”

            You wonder if Emmerich still hasn’t touched anyone. You hope you never said anything to him that fucked him up like you are. You hope he’s known what it’s like to touch someone who loves him. He deserves to touch someone who loves him. He deserves to feel someone he loves. 

            “Well, it happens. It’s not a reflection of you. Of course, usually, when we find that we don’t mesh as well as we thought we would with someone, we break it off. We don’t keep seeing them and then telling them we don’t want to be their boyfriend.”

            You wonder if Emmerich has a boyfriend. You wonder if Emmerich has a girlfriend. You wonder if Emmerich has anyone. You wonder if Emmerich ever wonders about you. If you could call him, what would you say? Would you tell him that these two psychotic gangsters fuck you into the mattress? Would you tell him that you met someone who reminded you of him, if only in that this person actually gives a shit about you? Would you tell him that you like your coffee with six sugars and your pizza with pepperonis and banana peppers? Does he drink coffee? Does he wake up in the morning and dress in his suit and tie and go to work for your father, like he was supposed to? Did everything finally go according to plan for him and your parents? Are you simply the tiny footnote on an already fucked-up-beyond-repair family history?

            “I have to be honest. Mizuki-san certainly sounds like as big of a dick to you as he always seemed to us.”

            You almost pull your arm out of its socket when you yank it away from Trip and attack Virus again. This time, you get him.

            Not for long, of course, but you do manage to knock his glasses off.

            And then your face is shoved into his shoulder as Trip pins you against him. This is perfect. Facing Virus, and you can’t look away. Good. As always, Virus is far more terrifying without his glasses, and now you’re forced to stare at him. _Good_. You want this. You want to be broken. You want Mizuki to fix you.

            “If you can’t keep your hands to yourself, we’ll have to restrain them,” Virus says. He’s trying to catch his breath as he snaps his fingers at Trip, who puts a knee against the small of your back again. You don’t know what he’s messing with, but you hear your bedside table open and then you feel your arms being pulled on. “Is that why you keep coming at me? Because you want us to tie you up?”

            “ _Yes_ ,” you snarl.

            Yes. That’s what you want. You want them to tie you up. You want them to hold your arms behind your back and gag you until you’re drooling everywhere. You want them to humiliate you. You _don’t_ – you _don’t_ want them to do any of that, of course, but you _do_. You’d say it’s the same as always: you’d _like_ to be held and kissed gently, rocked to sleep and told you’re loved, but you don’t deserve _that_. You like _this_ because you deserve it, but you’re not sure you deserve it anymore. You’ve grown to like this too much. It no longer feels like a punishment.

            You wonder if Mizuki would ever debase you like this. That’s exactly what you want – but you don’t deserve to get what you want. So you’ll take this, instead.

            Trip pulls you up by the arms. Virus admonishes him and you think he might be sincere – he doesn’t want to break your arms because you might not be able to tell if they do – and you hear yourself breathing like a bull, like a dog, like a hyena that’s become rabid. Trip binds your forearms together with fuck knows what and then pulls your pants and boxers down gruffly. He pushes you down into Virus’s shoulder just before you hear him unzip his own pants quickly after and the head of his dick runs down your ass.

            “Condom!” you bark. He huffs but Virus shifts slightly and then you hear a wrapper tear open. He can fuck you dry. He can fuck you without any preparation. But he’s _not_ going to fuck you without a condom. You’re clean and you’re going to stay that way. You _have_ to stay that way. For Mizuki.

            There is some lube and a couple fingers but they’re quick and hardly worth it. When he pushes into you, you breath out against Virus’s neck. Virus is pinioned beneath the both of you and you briefly wonder how he can breathe, before you’re overcome by the equally suffocating thickness of Trip’s dick inside you. You stutter into Virus, trying to acclimate to Trip, who takes his time entering you fully, but he never pulls out to give you a chance to adjust. He shoves in slowly but surely and you don’t know if this hurts or not. You accidentally wonder if Emmerich has ever had sex. You hope he’s never had sex like this.

            You don’t want to think about Emmerich. You don’t want to think about Mizuki. You don’t really want to think about anything. All you can focus on is how bad you want them to fuck you _hard_ right now. Your legs are tangled, your ass is high in the air, and your skin is pricked by fingernails and teeth, both on your hips and on your shoulders and you push back against Trip’s dick as he sits inside of you, completely still for a moment. Virus finally breathes.

            “Do you think this is why Mizuki doesn’t want to be your boyfriend?” he whispers into your ear. It’s so quiet you’re not even sure Trip can hear over his own grunting as he starts to pull out and thrust in again. You moan in response to Virus’s question. “Do you think it’s because you want to be fucked like this? Maybe you’re too much of a freak for him.”

            You let out a strangled sob. You love this. You love what’s happening right now. And Virus is right. There’s no way Mizuki could do this to you. There’s no way Mizuki could debase you like this.

            “Ah,” he coos. “It’s alright. You’re not a freak, Noiz-san. Let Mizuki-san think what he wants. We know you’re not a freak. At least, not just because you like to be fucked like this.”

            You shut your eyes and see stars – the tiny bursts of white light that result from your eyelids pushing closed too hard, not the stars in the sky that you stare up at with Mizuki at night. You grit your teeth. No one can see your face. It’s being fucked into the sheets, into Virus’s neck, into oblivion. No one can see your face, so you can cry as much as you want. Trip builds a rhythm into you and you let go for once. You can’t really help it, in any case – your breath comes in labored pants as Trip fucks it out of you, and all you can do is lie there and let it happen while Virus reaches under you and takes your dick in his hand. He jerks you off with his fingernails, digging into the slit. Every few breaths bring another cry from the back of your throat.

            You start to tear up once you’ve adjusted well enough to Trip and then he finds your prostate. You open your mouth and let your tongue fall out. If they could see you right now, they’d be feeling pretty cocky; they’d be making some comment about how good you must feel, how you always give in to them, how you can try to attack them but you still want them to fuck you in the end, and they’d be right about all of it. They can’t see you, but Virus can feel you.

            “Ah, Noiz-san, you’re drooling,” he says, and you can hear the self-satisfaction in his voice. “Are you feeling good?”

            You can’t answer other than to whine uncontrollably. You try to get words out, but Trip’s brutal thrusting causes it to come out as disjointed babbling. You can only relax completely. You can only give yourself to the feeling. You can only lose yourself to Virus’s nails and Trip’s cock as they both move succinctly with each other. You can only let yourself come after you’ve sufficiently accepted that this is happening to you and you can only catch your breath when they’ve slowly extricated themselves from your bed.

            You lift your head and you feel the spit against the sheets. It’s sticky against your chin and lips and the room is sort of blurry and bright when you finally open your eyes again. You don’t know how long you were fucking, but it was good and you felt good and everything is good.

            Well, everything is terrible – which means everything will be good.

            Once you call Mizuki.

            You’re on your stomach, your shirt pushed up to your chest and your pants and boxers hanging off your foot. You gaze up at Virus. He’s adjusting his collar and tie. Trip drops the used condom into your trashcan.

            “Hand me my Coil,” you say. You stretch your arm out but it seems your words aren’t heard.

            “You know,” Virus says laboriously, removing his crooked glasses and fixing the frames. You must have done that. You smile to yourself. “You look very good like that.”

            You stop smiling. That took you off guard.

            You don’t know what that means. You frown.

            “What?”

            “You look good,” Virus tells you. “With your shirt up. Your pants down. Your ass out like that, post-sex. You’re an attractive person.”

            You furrow your brows. You don’t understand where he’s going with this but, as usual, you really want him to keep complimenting you.

            “I am sure anyone would feel lucky to have you,” he concludes, putting his glasses back on and taking a few steps to your bedroom door. “To get to sleep with you. And to get to see you like this afterwards. To know that they are the only one who gets to see you like it. You have to agree to things like that. Monogamy, I mean. You have to agree that even if someone else propositions you, you will only sleep with one person. That person would be very lucky to be the one you promise that to.”

            You swallow hard. Trip steps over the threshold of your door and waves goodbye. Virus follows him.

            “Hm. Those are just my thoughts, though. Anyway. See you later.”

            You’re left dumbstruck on the bed. You hear them make their way to the front door and let themselves out. You grab the blanket that was shoved halfway off the bed in all the action and hug it against your chest and you consider his words.

            Of course he didn’t mean he was jealous. You know that much. He didn’t mean _he_ wanted you like that; and you know it would be too obvious to imagine he meant that Mizuki should be _glad_ to have you. You know Virus is wildly insincere. You know Virus doesn’t really give a shit about you. You know Virus is the opposite of romantic. He’s empty and indifferent and in any case, if he does have some hidden, romantic side, it’s probably reserved for Trip.

            And Mizuki should reserve his for you.

            He _should_ , but he can’t. That’s what he says.

            You’re conflicted. You want him to want you – you’re angry that he’ll date you and that he’ll love you but that he won’t _be with you._ You’re angry because you want him to make you better. You’re angry because you want to make _him_ better. You’re angry because you’re doing the things you want to do with him with Virus and Trip instead; you’re angry because you don’t know why you want to do these terrible things with Mizuki in the first place.

            You want him to hold you under the stars and press his lips lightly against your temple. You also want him to tie you to the bed and gag you until you drool.

            He bites his lip later that night when you challenge him to a staring contest. He’s smiling uncontrollably and it makes you grin, too.

            “I’m so uncomfortable, I _hate_ people staring at me,” he says. You raise your eyebrows.

            “We can stop,” you say. He shakes his head.

            “No, I trust you,” he tells you. “Just don’t – jump at me or anything.”

            He’s cute when he’s determined. He’s steely-eyed, wrinkling his nose in resolve, but his smile gives him away completely. You want to kiss him.

            “I’m going to jump at you,” you warn him.

            “What? Don’t –”

            He’s alarmed when you initially lean forward, but when you lock your lips with his, he huffs a laugh out his nose and grabs the back of your head. He tugs harshly at the bottom of your hair. Enough for you to feel it, but not so hard he pulls your head up. He presses your head into his, deepening the kiss before you pull away and grin at him.

            “Sorry,” you shrug. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

            “You’re forgiven.”

            It’s your routine. Virus and Trip break you. Mizuki un-breaks you.

            He sits back casually and pushes away the plate he just ate his pizza off of; he’s in the tightest jeans you’ve ever seen and a long-sleeved black shirt that remind you his shoulders are as broad as ever. He leans against the front of his couch and pivots his body to face you. You pick up the last bit of your pizza and cram it in your mouth.

            “So… I haven’t seen you in a while,” he says. You turn to look at him but your mouth is so full that a bit of crust is sticking out from between your lips. You raise your eyebrows in response. “I was a little worried you didn’t want to see me again.”

            “Nuh uh!” you cry, using one hand to help crawl quickly to him and the other to force the pizza down your throat. You wanted to see him again. You just needed a few days. You needed to see Virus and Trip first. You can’t tell him that of course, so you’re not exactly sure what to follow that up with, but it’s okay because he’s laughing at you hard enough to distract himself. You’re pretty sure that when Mizuki smiles – something poetic and romantic and good happens in the world. You can’t figure out what right now because you’re too focused on his lips.

            “I’m glad,” he tells you, his smile turning from intense laughter to something more promiscuous and suggestive. He puts his hand on your chest and beckons you closer. “I haven’t seen you since you got the good news.”

            Your entire body stops. Including your mouth, which was chewing and swallowing the rest of your food. You stare dumbly at him. It’s not that you’re shocked – you assumed you’d be having sex with him tonight – but you’re still surprised every time he initiates it. Surprised and very, _very_ grateful.

            “Are you going to finish your food?” he asks. You swallow hard and wipe your face with the back of your hand. You know he wants to feel your pierced dick inside him, but you suppose that can’t happen now that you’re only having safe sex, so when he curls an arm around your neck and asks breathily, _“So what do you want to do?”_ all you can think of is Virus and Trip.

            All you can think of is how Mizuki would never do the things you want to do with him; how Mizuki would never do the things you want him to do _to you_.

            “You said you liked it rough, right?” you ask. His face is inches from yours; his eyes are heavy-lidded and seductive. He raises his eyebrows.

            “I did,” he nods. You squirm and look away. You’re not sure what you’re asking.

            “H – how? Rough?”

            He cocks his head slowly and regards you quizzically, like he’s confused by the question. He hums softly.

            “Um – what do you mean?”

            You don’t know. You don’t know what you mean.

            “Like – what kind of rough?”

            “Are you asking if I just like rough sex? Or do you want to do like, BDSM stuff?”

            BDSM. Yeah. Maybe that’s it. You think. You know what BDSM is but you’ve never exactly defined anything you’ve ever as BDSM. The term itself is just too heavy to apply to someone as angelic as Mizuki. You fucked his face in the shower once but you wouldn’t really call that _rough_. You want to say yes, but you don’t want Mizuki to think you’re a freak. You also don’t know what to say. You don’t know what it is you want.

            “I don’t know,” you say helplessly. Your mouth hangs open to keep talking, but all you can do is look around the room while you come up with nothing. You look Mizuki in the eye and frown. He laughs, then shifts up onto his knees and pulls you forward. He straddles you, holds the collar of your shirt in his hands, and stares down at you.

            “What exactly do you want to do?” he asks, pulling at your collar.

            “I don’t know,” you repeat. You just want to touch him at all.

            “Do you need me to go through a list?”

            “Yes.”

            “Okay, um… bondage?”

            “Yes.”

            “Um… gags?”

            “Yes.”

            “Blindfolds?”

            You pause. The thought of not being able to talk doesn’t bother you, but the thought of not knowing what’s coming next – you don’t like that.

            “Maybe not.”

            “Okay,” he nods. “Good. We won’t do blindfolds.”

            That was far easier than you were expecting. You can’t wrap your head around it.

            “Do you want to be the one tied up or –?”

            You stare at him. You’re not sure. You thought so. But the idea of Mizuki tied up is nice, too. This has gotten more confusing than you were expecting.

            “I’m not sure.”

            “Have you ever done this before?” he asks abruptly, leaning back to sit on your knees. He’s not exasperated, but he does seem perplexed. It makes you feel a little insecure.

            “Done what?”

            “BDSM?”

            You shrug.

            “Yeah,” you nod. He traces his fingers down your cheek to your chin when you look away but he doesn’t pull your head up to look you in the eye, he just taps your chin lightly. It’s comforting.

            “How do you do it?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Like – do you do the traffic light system? Or do you just use a safe word?”

            You blink. You know what a safe word is but you’ve never used one. ‘Traffic light system’ is completely lost on you. You’re starting to feel more than a little uncomfortable and you’re not sure why. You don’t want Mizuki to know how inexperienced you are. You don’t want Mizuki to know how _experienced_ you are, either. You take a deep breath.

            “I don’t – do either of those.”

            “What do you mean? What do you do, then?”

            You breathe out raggedly and turn your head away to stare at the floor. You make a sound from the back of your throat, a small hum-turned-groan and you don’t know how to answer. Mizuki seems to catch on to your anxiety. He holds your chin in both hands but still lets you stare at the floor.

            “You can talk to me,” he says. “What’s wrong?”

            You don’t want to answer that because you don’t exactly _know_ the answer. You close your eyes tightly and clench your hands a few times.

            “Do you think I’m a freak?” you ask. “Is it weird? That I like this?”

            “No,” he says forcefully, shaking your head slightly. You refuse to open your eyes. You’re embarrassed that you’re this insecure, but it’s easy to be vulnerable with Mizuki. He makes it so _easy_. “You’re not a freak. I just want to know what you want to do so we can talk about it.”

            You open your eyes and turn your head to look at him again.

            “Talk about it?”

            “Well, yeah. We have to discuss it first.”

            You furrow your brows.

            “Why?”

            “Because – you said you’ve done this before right?”

            “Yeah.”

            “So – you never talked about what you wanted before you did it? How did you know – oh.”

            He leans back as realization washes over his face but you’re not sure what he’s realized. He becomes expressionless as he stares at the ceiling. He seems to be thinking something over.

            “Hello?” you ask. He licks his bottom lip.

            “Okay,” he says. “Come here. I have something – I want to show you something.”

            He scrambles up from your lap and holds a hand out for you to take. You grab it and he leads you down the hallway and to his bedroom, stepping over a few cats in the process. You’re about to ask if it’s the bed that he wants to show you, because you’ve already seen it, but you wouldn’t mind another tour, but he gets on his knees and reaches under the bed before you can say anything.

            “Here,” he says, stretching his arm to grab something. You peak around the side of the frame to see Sake staring at you and then at Mizuki in confusion. He has sleepy eyes. You feel bad for waking him up.

            “Sake was asleep.”

            “He’ll be fine,” Mizuki groans, pulling his arm out and dragging a long, thin box with him. “Here. Come here. Sit next to me.”

            You smile at Sake as if he’ll understand it as some sort of apology and then kneel on the floor next to Mizuki. You look at him almost shyly. He has a huge, smug smile on his face. That smile that he gives you when he knows something that you don’t and wants to hold it over your head for a bit. That smile excites you. It gets you anxious, too.

            “What…?” you ask. “What’s inside?”

            He doesn’t answer. He raises his eyebrows and his smile grows wider. He’s not _grinning_ – not showing teeth, not trying to threaten or scare you – he’s just genuinely amused. He lifts the lid off the plastic box.

            “Holy shit,” you say. Your hand moves automatically to one of the dildos inside. Mizuki can’t just _open_ a box full of sex toys and expect you to keep your hands to yourself. The dildo jiggles in your hand. “This is the largest dildo I have ever seen.”

            Mizuki doesn’t reply. He simply continues to smile. You assume that’s permission to rifle through his secret sex toy box, so you drop the dildo on the floor and peer back inside.

            It’s mostly dildos and vibrators on top, and you ask him why he’d ever need this many (he only shrugs, smile firmly in place). Part of you can’t stop smirking and laughing under your breath; the other part is _so_ turned on that you’re nervous he’ll be able to tell how excited you’re getting. It’s not just the _sight_ of the sex toys, it’s the idea that Mizuki has this many, stored away, under his bed. It’s the idea that Mizuki owns them at all. It’s the idea – the mental image – that Mizuki’s used them. The thought of Mizuki jerking off with a vibrator inside him. The thought of Mizuki jerking off with a vibrator inside him, possibly imagining that it’s you. Your dick pokes against your pants and you have to bite your tongue hard to stop yourself.

            You notice something metallic and reflective, and you reach in to pull up a pair of handcuffs. You quirk one eyebrow at him. He finally speaks:

            “Those are actually a joke thing. I’ve only used them once.”

            “I’m sure,” you say sarcastically. He reaches into the box and jumbles some things around.

            “I’m serious,” he says. “Those are painful. They might be nice if you’re into that, but I don’t like the way they dig into my skin. If I want to do bondage, I use this.”

            He pulls out a deep crimson-colored rope and you shut up immediately. It looks like silk and it spills from one of Mizuki’s long fingers to the next as he slides it through his hands. Your eyes flutter as you try not to imagine it around his wrists. He’s had the handcuffs around his wrists at least, he just admitted to that. Fuck, that would be so hot.

            “It would look nice on your skin,” he says, and when you snap your head to look at him, he has that smile again. “If you wanted to do it, of course.” He puts the rope back in the box and nudges it toward you again. “You can keep going through it. See if there’s anything in there you’d like. Take it out and we can talk about it.”

            You swallow hard and turn back to the box. You take the silk rope out again and put it on the floor quietly. Mizuki smirks.

            Mizuki’s jumbled the box around enough to unearth the items below the dildos, which are mostly things you’ve never used. There are a couple things you’ve never even seen before. You pull out a long, metal bar with circle cuffs on either end.

            “What’s this?”

            “Ah,” Mizuki hums with concern. “That’s a spreader bar. You might not want to start with stuff like that.”

            “Why not?”

            “Mm,” he shrugs. “It just feels really – restrictive.”

            “Isn’t that sort of the point?”

            “Sure,” he says. “But when you tie someone up, they’re restricted and maybe at your mercy but – I don’t know. Spreader bars keep your legs apart. So you’re just… open. You’re a lot more physically vulnerable, I guess. It’s just a different feeling.”

            You want to feel it. You want to know what that different feeling is. You want to be vulnerable with Mizuki. You’ve _been_ vulnerable with Mizuki and you’ve loved it. You want to do it more, and you want to do it in a situation where you get to have an orgasm at the end of it.

            “I want to do it,” you tell him. “I want to feel vulnerable with you.”

            Mizuki’s smile softens. It’s more genuine. He’s flattered, you think, that you would want to do this with him.

            “Do you?” he asks. You nod at him and cup his chin in your hand.

            “You want to too, don’t you? Why else would you show me this stuff?”

            “I wanted you to know you’re not a freak,” he says. “This kind of stuff involves a lot of talking beforehand and just – figuring out what the other wants. It’s not something to do on a whim. But – just wanting to do it doesn’t make you a freak.”

            You blink. You forgot you ever felt like a freak.

            “Or else,” he shrugs, “if it does, then… I’m a freak, too.”

            You lean in to kiss him. He wraps his hands around your neck and you lean him down on the floor. You straddle his waist and breathe against his lips as you pull away and then you open your mouth to let his tongue in when you kiss again.

            “Stop,” he says after a few seconds. You freeze immediately.

            “What did I do?” you ask. He grabs your thighs to keep you in place.

            “Nothing,” he grunts, sitting up slightly and reaching under him. He pulls out the giant dildo and tosses it on the bed. “Okay. Keep going.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is ALL KINKY MIZUNOIZ SMUT and it's going to go up on march 17 for mizuki's bday 8) happy birthday alcohol tattoo man


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> noiz will come to think of this time as [far more satisfying](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xq76aQRmbQA) than the time he did it in front of Koujaku (how many times can i link to this song but its so perfect)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **cw** this entire chapter is healthy smut!!!!!!! but it's also bdsm so.... i mean i think it's fair to say though that if you've gotten this far, you probably have nothing against healthy bdsm but cw anyway

            You’re on Mizuki’s bedroom floor, your legs crossed, mirroring Mizuki opposite you. Your hands are on your knees and you’re both staring at each other as if it’s a contest to the death. This is the most intense you’ve ever seen Mizuki when he’s not livid or miserable. He is intensely – something. You’re not sure what. He’s serious. But he’s excited.

            “Okay,” he says slowly, taking his hands off his knees and holding them up, palms toward you. “We need to talk about what we _want_ out of this experience.”

            “Okay,” you nod. You may be blushing. The idea of _talking_ about sex before having it embarrasses you – in a good way. You just don’t want Mizuki to know how turned on you are.

            “Okay. So, first of all… do you want to have a clear power dynamic?”

            You take a breath, ready to answer immediately – and find yourself confused. You raise your eyebrows at him.

            “I… don’t know.”

            “Okay,” he nods. “Do you want there to be a Dom and a sub?”

            “Yes,” you say quickly. That much you know.

            “Okay, good. Do you want to _be_ the Dom or the sub?”

            “The sub.”

            You roll your lips inward and try not to look surprised. You also try not to look too desperate. But you are – you’re surprised that the answer came so quickly and you’re _desperate_ to have Mizuki dominate you. You’ve thought about dominating Mizuki yourself, and it’s appealing – you would love to see him writhing beneath you, bending to your every whim. But there’s something about – doing the things that you do with Virus and Trip – the things you’ve done with almost everyone you’ve ever slept with –with someone that you actually trust instead, someone that you actually want to do those things with, that you can’t get out of your head.

            Mizuki raises his eyebrows. The small smile on his face indicates he’s a little surprised at how quickly you answered, too. He nods.

            “Okay. You want me to dominate you?”

            Your thighs clench at the words.

            “Yeah,” you say quietly.

            “Okay,” he repeats. “That’s fine by me, too. In fact… that works well for me because… I used to be a switch. And I think that I still am, but… I still have trouble…”

            He bites his lip as if he doesn’t think he should continue. You ball your hands into expectant fists.

            “Still have trouble what?”

            He sighs loudly, but never takes his eyes away from yours. He’s determined to answer you; he just needs a little time. You know that look better than anything. He’s gathering his thoughts.

            “You know that the Dom doesn’t just blindly have all the control, right?” he asks. You’re about to nod, but then you realize what he’s said. The Dom _dominates_. Why wouldn’t Mizuki have all the control?

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, the reason we’re talking about all of this right now is because we’re both in control of what’s happening. The whole time.”

            You look at him slightly dumbfounded. You’re confused. He picks up on that.

            “Okay,” he says, “think of it like this. You’ve given me a list of things that you would like me to do. And I get to do anything on that list, in any order and in any way that I want to, and some of that might include giving _you_ orders to do things on the list – the list _you’ve_ given me. That you’ve already approved. So… I do get to have some sort of control over the actual situation, but you’ve already been allowed to control the things I’m allowed to do.”

            You squint.

            “So that’s not really control,” you say. “That’s just… fake.”

            “If it were all real, it would be nonconsensual,” he says firmly. “If I was simply allowed to do _whatever_ I wanted and you had to listen no matter what, I’d be forcing you into things.”

            “But that’s what I want.”

            “ _What_ do you want?”

            “I want to do whatever you tell me to do,” you tell him. He doesn’t skip a beat.

            “If I told you to let me tie your hands behind your back right now, you would let me do that?”

            You try not to look too eager, but your heart flutters.

            “Yes.”

            “If I tied your hands up so you couldn’t use them, and then tried to force something down your throat, would you fight it?”

            “Is this ‘something’ your dick?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. Mizuki doesn’t laugh.

            “No,” he says flatly. “If I tied your hands up and then I told you I was done with you, and then I just left. I just got up and left the house and left you here, tied up. You’d want that?”

            You have to catch your breath. That’s the worst thing Mizuki has ever said to you. But you have to admit, you see his point.

            Sort of.

            “If I knew you were coming back,” you say, and you feel very tiny as you speak. “If I knew you were coming back, I might… kind of like that.”

            “If you knew I was coming back, that would be because we discussed it beforehand. It would be on the list of things that you’d like me to do.” He stares you fiercely in the eye. “That’s why we talk about it now. I don’t want to do anything that’s not going to turn you on. Everything I do is supposed to be because _you_ want me to do it to you. I only want to give you want _you_ want.”

            Your throat closes up. You know – you fucking _know_ Mizuki is an angel. You’ve _known_ this since the day you met him. But hearing him say those words so unapologetically reminds you of it all the more.

            “Noiz?”

            “Hm?”

            “Are you okay?”

            You nod.

            “What’s wrong?”

            You shake your head.

            “Tell me.”

            You finally take a deep breath.

            “I’m not used to people wanting to give me anything,” you tell him. You can’t look at him. “Not unless it’s – a hard dick or something like that. Especially not anything that I wanted.”

            You don’t usually tell people things like that. Everything about Mizuki is so nerve-wracking and new: admitting to your past, telling him how unloved you’ve been, discussing sex before having it. Having good sex is on that list, too. You’re not used to so freely telling people how you’ve been taken advantage of your whole life – you’re not used to so freely admitting that you actually _feel_ taken advantage of. That now, after you’ve known Mizuki this long, you realize that those people were more than just monsters like you. They were worse than you. You always felt like you belonged with them. Now you’re not so sure.

            You can feel Mizuki’s eyes boring holes in the side of your head. You can imagine his face: thin-lipped and upset but determined. A wrinkled forehead. Staring at you, trying to think of his next statement.

            “I know you’re not,” he says finally. “But you deserve what you want. And I want to give it to you.”

            You swallow hard, roll your eyes and shake your head. You like the newfound openness about emotions, but sometimes it’s still hard to accept.

            “You’re so stupid,” you mutter in embarrassment. You look at him and he smiles finally, relaxing his shoulders a bit and sitting back casually.

            “I’m going to say what I’m understanding from this conversation and you’re going to tell me what I have right and what I have wrong, okay?” he asks. He’s already being a bit commanding, and you like it. “You want me to Dom you. You want a clear power dynamic. You want the scene to be about you obeying what I tell you. Is that right?”

            You cough.

            “Scene?” you ask. You’ve never heard that term before. Not in relation to sex, anyway. Mizuki perks up.

            “A scene is the – it’s when you actually are in the – hm,” he rubs his chin as he thinks. “It’s just the period of time where you’re actually being the Dom and the sub. It’s the entire experience.”

            “Isn’t that just called sex?” you ask. He cocks his head.

            “I mean, sex can happen during a scene, but it’s really important to remember it’s just – it’s a scene. It’s not reality. Like, some people want to be able to resist and say ‘no’ during a scene, but in reality, their partner would never keep going if they said no. I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that yet, but it’s something like that. What we say or do during a scene isn’t how we really feel.”

            You understand what he’s saying, but you’re a little too focused on one part in particular.

            “What don’t you feel comfortable with yet?” you ask. He regards you sadly for a split-second.

            “I don’t – I don’t think I want to do anything where you say no and I keep going anyway,” he says. “I’m not – sure I want to do that yet.”

            “Why not?” you ask. You couldn’t care less if Mizuki kept going after you said no, because you can’t think of a single instance where you’d _ever_ tell Mizuki no. But why would _Mizuki_ be uncomfortable? He’s not the sub.

            “I’ve done that before, and I just – it was okay then, because I knew they were… I don’t know. I knew they were…” He trails off and you have to urge him to continue.

            “They were…”

            “I knew that _they_ knew what they wanted,” he says finally. He looks you in the eye boldly, as if he has to convince himself that he’s this confident. He doesn’t want to be saying this to you.

            “What do you mean?”

            He sighs.

            “I knew that they were just in a scene,” he tells you. “I knew that they were – healthy.”

            You frown and lean away from him.

            “What are you saying?” you ask. You think you’re a little angry. What does he mean that they were _healthy_? Is he implying that you’re _not_? That might be true, but you don’t want to hear Mizuki say it.

            “I’m saying that I knew they weren’t feeling vulnerable. They weren’t going to have me do something they didn’t think they could take. They weren’t going to try to hurt themselves through me.”

            You almost want to stand up and storm out of the room. Instead your eyes dart around angrily and you try not to huff like a child. If Mizuki distrusts you that much, why is he doing this with you? That is distrust, isn’t it? To think you might be trying to hurt him by using him to hurt yourself? You don’t even understand what that means. You shake your head.

            “You think I’m using you?” you ask. There’s a small silence as he looks at you wearily.

            “I don’t think you’re using me,” he tells you softly. “I think you might not realize that you’re using the _situation_ to try to hear me say something you want me to say. I don’t know what that might be, but... when I told you that I loved you, I meant it. I’m not going back on that.”

            You don’t think much of anything. Your anger vanishes. When Mizuki tells you he loves you, your mind goes completely blank. It’s all you can focus on.

            “I’m not either,” you tell him.

            “You’re not what?”

            “Going back on that,” you say. “I love you.”

            His smile is so soft and sincere and you’re lost in it. You know that you’re frowning, your brow feeling heavy against your eyes. You know that your face is ugly and thick compared to how light Mizuki’s smile is. He’s beautiful.

            “That’s why I want this to be a good experience,” he says, leaning onto his hands and knees and crawling towards you. “I want to make you so happy that you never settle for shitty sex again.” He takes another pace towards you. “I want you to be so exhausted afterwards that all you can do is fall asleep curled into me.” His lips are grazing yours and you stare down at his eyes behind his bangs. “I want to make you come so hard you forget what day it is.”

            You grab a few strands of his hair as you kiss aggressively, your noses mashing together and your lips melting into each other. He pulls off and his breath is hot against yours.

            “That’s why we have to talk about it first.”

            You groan.

            “Come _on_ ,” you say, pulling on his shirt in frustration. “I’m not a child. I know how sex works.”

            “This isn’t just _sex_ though. This is adding a power dynamic _to_ the sex.”

            “You keep saying that,” you mumble. “I know that already. That’s the point. I just want you to dominate me.”

            Mizuki sighs and puts his lips against your ear to kiss your temples.

            “I need to ask you something,” he whispers, grabbing your hands and digging his nails into them. “And I need you to be completely honest. Please.”

            You’re nervous but you nod anyway. There’s not much about you that Mizuki doesn’t already know and he’s still here – and that’s actually sort of a revelation to you – so whatever he asks next can’t be that bad.

            You can hear him smack his lips lightly as if he’s nervous so you wrap an arm around his lower back and sit back against his bed. He falls effortlessly into your lap, puts his hands on your shoulders and looks you in the eyes, cocking his head. He looks so gentle.

            “You’re not – you’re not doing this because… you think you actually deserve to be hurt… _really_ … are you?”

            Your mind goes blank again.

            Your eyes flutter slightly. They don’t close, because then you wouldn’t be able to see Mizuki’s beautiful face staring at you in concern. You’d be more anxious that he’s so troubled with you if you weren’t so ecstatic that he’s _troubled by you_. He cares about you. He loves you.

            He’s right about you. Virus and Trip treat you like shit and you feel better afterwards because it validates you.

            You want Mizuki to validate you.

            You want Mizuki to punish you for all the shit you’ve done to him, even if he doesn’t realize you’ve done most of it. You don’t deserve him. You don’t even deserve him hurting you.

            Your silence is damning; Mizuki starts to pull away from your lap but you pull him back by the hips.        

            “What do you mean?” you ask. “What do you mean ‘really hurt?’”

            He sighs.

            “I mean – I’m not going to do anything that I feel like you’re going to think you actually deserved. People do this – well, _I_ do this kind of stuff because I like it. I like being tied up. I like being choked – well.” He stops very abruptly and reaches up to his neck. You haven’t thought about that in a while. The black bars still cover the Morphine tag and his eyes go wide. “I _liked_ being choked. That’s what I was saying earlier. I don’t think I can give over even a false sense of control right now. I wouldn’t be able to sub.”

            “Why not?” Your back stretches up as you try to stare directly into his eyes. You want Mizuki to tell you everything. You want to know everything that troubles him. But he won’t look at you; he only fingers his throat lightly and stares at the bed behind your head. You shake him slightly and he opens his mouth.

            “I wouldn’t be able to separate it,” he says. “From what happened. I don’t – I don’t trust anyone enough yet to go back to subbing like that.”

            Mizuki doesn’t trust you enough. He _trusts_ you. But not _enough_. You suppose you should be focused on the fact that he doesn’t trust _anyone_ – it’s not like he’s going to do this with someone else instead of you, but all you can really think about is that there’s something Mizuki doesn’t want to do with you. You haven’t done enough to get Mizuki to trust you with something like this. You don’t know what else you can do. You stay quiet as he starts to speak again:

            “But when I used to do it, I did it because I enjoyed it. I wanted it because I just – liked rougher sex sometimes. I only did it with people I knew wouldn’t really hurt me, or would listen when I told them to stop. I mean, I had a few bad experiences, but that’s why I’m so careful now. But I wouldn’t be able to have someone do that to me now. I care too much about you to have you Dom me.”

            You wrinkle your brows.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean – I’m trying to take care of myself. I’m trying to deal with things that happened to me. And I _know_ something like – being tied up or ordered around or humiliated wouldn’t turn me on like it used to. So I’m not going to put you in the position of hurting me, because – I know you love me, too. You wouldn’t want to hurt me. I wouldn’t want to make you.”

            It’s a brilliant moment of clarity that you suddenly understand just how unfair it is of you to expect Mizuki to do anything but love you. He’s the only person who’s given you what you’ve actually wanted so far – for someone to _actually_ love you – but you still want him to hate you. You want him to hurt you. And you don’t know why.

            It’s thevalidation. If Mizuki could find a way to hate you, you wouldn’t have to _worry_ anymore. You don’t mind being a monster, as long as you know for certain that you are. Mizuki taking you to a field to look at the stars disrupted that conviction, like a freight train meeting you head on – but instead of brutally crashing into you, this train held you delicately in its arms and kissed the side of your head. What a weird train.

            You’re trying to find words. He asks you if you’re okay, but all you can do is nod disjointedly, your mouth opening and closing like a trout. You’re sort of having a moment. Mizuki is willing to work this hard – to talk to you at length about treading this fine line between enjoyment and humiliation – just to try to give you what you want. And you now have to accept that you don’t want what you thought you did.

            “I don’t want you to hurt me,” you tell him, pulling at the hem of his shirt and staring up at him. “I want you to love me.”

            It’s so easy to call yourself cheesy or hate yourself for falling into this trap of romantic thinking, but when Mizuki leans in and kisses you again, you accept that you deserve this. You deserve to say the word _love_. You deserve to be cheesy. Maybe if you’d had the chance to do this before you were twenty, you wouldn’t be so stupid and desperate now, but as it is, you like it. You like touching Mizuki and you like loving Mizuki. You like Mizuki running his hands down your sides as he licks his lips and catches his breath, a frown on his face as he tries to restrain himself.

            “Let’s start slow then,” he says breathily. You nod. You nod so quickly. You want to do this with him. You’d do anything he said to get this started, which is ironic because you’re _about_ to do anything he tells you to. “I’ll just use the rope. Is that okay?”

            You nod again.

            “Do you want me to tie your hands together? Or to the bed?”

            You nod. Wait. This isn’t a yes or no question.

            “Uh,” you mumble, but he stops you.

            “Think about this,” he says. “Don’t just answer. If you tie your hands together you can still use them to stop me if you need to. If they’re tied to the headboard, you won’t be able to touch me at all.”

            You want to touch him.

            “Just together, then,” you say. Your hands start roaming up his shirt already and he tries to hold himself back again. He puts his finger to your lips.

            “You don’t want a blindfold?”

            You shake your head. Maybe you’ll try that another time.

            “Gag?”

            You perk up.

            “How would I – say a safe word?”

            Mizuki smiles and you beam. He’s proud of you for remembering safe words. You’re aware of how inane it is that you feel this good about that.

            “We won’t do gags then,” he says, and you protest with a grunt.

            “But I want to.”

            “Well, we have to save _something_ for next time.”

            Your dick stirs. _Next time._

            “We do need a safe word though,” he says. “It needs to be something neither of us would ever say during sex. And something that would get the other’s attention and make them stop.”

            Something you’d never say during sex? Something that would get your attention and make you actually want to _stop_ having sex with Mizuki? You can only think of one thing on this forsaken Earth that would make you want to _stop_ having sex with Mizuki:

            “Koujaku.”

            Mizuki blinks.

            He seems to take a moment to understand that you’re not talking _about_ Koujaku; you’re suggesting that ‘Koujaku’ be the safe word. When it clicks, he frowns.

            “Noiz!” he shouts. “Take this seriously!”

            You stare up at him, mouth slightly open. You’re being very serious. You’d never say Koujaku’s name during sex. You wouldn’t even say his name if you were having sex with Koujaku. Which you have. And you didn’t say his name once. Mizuki’s jaw relaxes and he shrugs suddenly.

            “Actually, yeah, that’s a good idea. I’d sure never say his name during sex.”

            You laugh. You knew you loved Mizuki for a reason. Even Mizuki hates Koujaku.

            “Okay, just use…” You look around the room. “What about ‘curtain?’”

            “Sure,” Mizuki nods. “So here’s what I usually do. If you want to just end the scene completely, you say the word ‘curtain.’ I untie you and we talk immediately. I do anything you need to help you feel better. Got it?”

            “Yeah,” you nod. Can you start now? You’re hard, and you really want to see Mizuki naked.

            “Otherwise, do the stoplight. If you’re uncomfortable or in pain or worried about something and need to stop to readjust but you don’t want to end the scene, say ‘red.’ I’ll stop immediately, but that way I know you’re not too emotionally gone. That’s what the safe word is for. If you want me to slow down or pull back but not stop what I’m doing completely, you say ‘yellow.’ And use ‘green’ when you want me to keep going.”

            You cock your head to the side.

            “Why would I say anything if I want you to keep going, why don’t you just… keep going?”

            “Because I like to know you like something. Just use it when you really want me to _keep_ doing something.”

            “Oh,” you nod. “Okay… I guess.”

            “You guess what?”

            “Nothing,” you shake your head. “I just – green seems pointless.”

            “Well it encourages _me_ ,” Mizuki pouts, folding his arms across his chest and looking away in faux anger. You reach up to pull the hair at the bottom of his head and plant a kiss on his collarbone. He whines.

            “Can we get started?” you ask. “I want you so bad right now.”

            “Wait,” he says. You groan. “I need to know one more thing.”

            “ _What_?” you drone. “Come _on—”_

“You just want to have sex right?”

            You sigh loudly.

            “Well, I’m sure trying here—”

            “No,” he interrupts. “I mean – we’re just having sex but with you tied up, right? Sometimes people do like… punishment or humiliation stuff. I don’t know if I’m ready to do that to you, yet.”

            Punishment and humiliation. The words make your dick jump again and you’re sure your face is flushing. Those sound good.

            “Why don’t you want to do that?”

            “I just – think we should wait to see how much you like this first.”

            “How much I like what?”

            “ _This_ ,” he says, waving his hand at the bed arbitrarily. “I think I know what you want. But I’m not going to do anything that’s going to sound like – I’m punishing or humiliating you. I don’t want to do that yet.”

            “You don’t want to see me humiliated?”

            “No,” he says firmly. “But we’ll experiment. We’ll see how it goes.”

            You bite your bottom lip and put your hands on his wait. You squeeze him tightly and he tries to wiggle away from you.

            “I’m ready,” you tell him. He smirks.

            “Are you?”

            “Yeah.”

            He sighs and looks away.

            “I’m worried that you won’t be able to feel something,” he says. “I’m worried I’m going to hurt you.”

            “You’re not going to hurt me,” you insist. “I swear. You’re already the gentlest person I’ve ever been with and no one’s ever really hurt me before.”

            He doesn’t seem entirely convinced. You wrap your arms around his hips and struggle to lift him up. You stand and turn to the bed, and he leans forward with a yelp to hold tight to your neck. You throw him down against his mattress and when he looks up at you with his big, genuine eyes, you lean down to kiss him again.

            “We’re going to go slow, right?” you ask. He nods.

            “Of course.”

            “Then we’ll just deal with it as it comes,” you tell him, pulling back to look at his entire face beneath you. You brush his bangs out of his eyes. “It’ll be okay.”

            It seems ironic or coincidental or something that you have to comfort the Dom now, but you love it. Mizuki is worried because he cares about hurting you. Mizuki doesn’t want to see you hurt. No matter how many times you hear it – no matter how many times you _realize_ it – you love it.

            He tugs on your shirt and bangs his fists lightly against your chest.

            “Alright,” he says. “Fine. We’re going to go _very_ slow though.” His eyes draw closed slowly and the timbre of his voice changes to a quiet chastisement. Your dick, once again, makes itself known – you love that voice. It means he’s about to fuck you. And you can’t wait.

            “How slow?” you ask as he pushes up on his elbows and places you in his lap once he’s sitting up.

            “I’m going to have a lot of fun watching you squirm, let’s put it that way,” he says, directing you off his lap by your hips. He places you at the head of the bed and then slides himself off. “Take off your clothes. And be quiet.”

            “Will y—”

            You stop yourself. You hardly realized you were even about to speak.

            You almost asked Mizuki to marry you.

            “I said be _quiet_ ,” he scolds, turning back and rushing you, grabbing your chin between his fingers and nuzzling his nose up the side of your face to your ear. Your entire body almost convulses; this is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. You love dominant Mizuki. He nips at the bottom of your ear and then whispers, “But did you not like that?”

            You love Mizuki.

            You shake your head violently.

            “ _No_ ,” you beg. “I loved it.”

            He chuckles darkly and pushes your chin away.

            “I know you did,” he mutters at you, leaving you once again on the bed as he heads into his closet. “Now _take your clothes off.”_

            You lick your top lip and watch him disappear into his closet. You pause for a moment as you wonder what he’s doing in there and then you remember you’ve been given an order, so you quickly reach for your belt buckle and unbuckle it, pushing your pants all the way off and dropping them over the side of the bed.

            And then you realize Sake is still there.

            “Uh,” you call. “Mizuki?”

            “Are you doing what I told you to?” he shouts. You clear your throat.

            “No, I – um, red.”

            Mizuki grips the closet door and whips it toward him so quickly he almost smacks himself in the forehead with it. He sticks his head out and you can tell that he’s naked below his shoulder. You want to know what he’s doing in there.

            “What’s wrong?”

            His eyes are wide and his mouth is open. He’s very concerned and it makes the pit of your stomach flop over itself.

            “Nothing, I just – should Sake be here?”

            “Oh,” he nods his head up. Relief visibly washes over him. “Yeah. Um. I’ll get him. I put him in the closet when I vacuum so – I’ll just put him in here.”

            You try not to smile as you sit with your legs pulled up to your chest, watching Mizuki walk out in just his boxers and pick up Sake, who pushes his head affectionately into Mizuki’s chest as he carries him across the room and into the closet. _There’s_ something you can relate to: bunting your head into Mizuki when he holds you close.

            “I thought I told you to get naked.”

            You have to stifle a laugh when he shouts from the closet. You want to know what he’s doing, but you figure you’ll know soon enough. You get back to disrobing, first your button-up and then your t-shirt and finally your boxers, and you feel more exposed than usual. You’ve been stripped forcefully before and you’ve never felt as _bare_ as you do sitting and waiting naked on someone you love’s bed like this. You wonder if he’ll scold you for covering up with his sheet. Then you realize that you sort of want him to, so you pick the sheet up and drape it gingerly across your dick, which is already embarrassingly hard. You grip the underside with your nails and scrape up it a few times, just to give it some sort of sensation.

            Then the closet door handle turns and Mizuki walks out –

            In his usual leather jacket and pants.

            “Wh…” You furrow your brows at him. “You put… clothes _on_?”

            He glowers at you as he walks toward the foot of the bed.

            “Did I tell you that you could speak?”

            You clamp your lips together and raise your eyebrows. You’re trying not to smile.

            “I did put clothes on though, yes,” he continues, putting a knee up on the bed and that’s when you notice the silk rope in his hand. He leans forward onto his hands and knees and crawls toward you. “I have a thing for the feel of leather.”

            He leans down before you can react and pulls your earlobe between his lips and bites down slowly, until your knees bend upward and a tiny moan escapes your throat. You wrap your arms around his lower back.

            “Look how hard you are already,” he murmurs into your ear. You mewl in shame. “Just talking about having sex with me got you overexcited.”

            You mewl again. He’s right.

            “Sit up and turn around,” he says harshly, removing himself from your lap. “I’m going to tie your wrists now.”

            Your eyes feel heavy with desire, like there’s a film resting over them, as he pulls your arms behind your back and starts to slip the rope around your wrists. You wish you could feel it. You bet it’s as soft as Mizuki.

            Then he lifts up on his knees and brings his lips back to your ear, one hand creeping up your torso and to your nipple, pulling hard on it. You squeak.

            “Actually,” he says quietly, his voice sweet and light again, just like it was when he asked if you were alright earlier, “give me a minute. I need to check the directions for this real quick. I don’t usually tie people up. I need to get it right.”

            You have to sit on your knees with your hands behind you, as Mizuki refers to his Coil for directions on how to properly bind your wrists together, and it’s infuriating – you’re getting so hard you can’t stand it. Mizuki laughs lightly to himself every now and then, probably at how ridiculous a situation he’s put you both in, but it only gets you hotter for some reason. Everything he does is tantalizing. You can’t help but moan slightly every time he pulls the rope tight, not because you can feel it, but because you’re so aroused by how long it’s taking, and how deliberate and necessary he makes every single movement.

            He pulls on them, asks you to try to jerk them apart and you can’t, then spends an extra five minutes inspecting them, since you can’t actually tell if they’re too tight and you want to _die he is taking so long to make sure you’re okay and you just want him to be inside of you_. He finally sits up, kicks his Coil off the side of the bed and bends you over harshly, a blunt divergence to his tender handling of your wrists. You grunt as your head hits the mattress, and he pulls your ass into the air by your hips. Then he places a hand on the small of your back and pushes it down, forcing your back to arch your ass as high as it can go, your hands still firmly bound behind you.

            You’ve been in this position before. Not just with Virus and Trip, but also with other people who have fucked you, and it’s always felt the same – well, actually, what you’ve always felt when people have bent you into this position is nothing. You’ve never been able to feel anything physically, so it wasn’t that hard to get to the point of feeling nothing emotionally either. By the time people had your face smashed into the blanket and your ass in the air, you didn’t have the capacity to care. Even when you did cry or squirm or wish you could leave, you didn’t really _care_ if you did. You didn’t really worry one way or the other what might happen. You didn’t care if you lived or died.

            But now your heart is racing and your hands are fidgeting. You’re excited. You keep opening and closing your fingers against the rope, and your toes scramble for purchase against the sheets as Mizuki spreads your legs wide, the back of his hand pressing roughly against the underside of your dick, which you can only tell because it pushes you forward a bit. You moan lightly as he gets situated behind you, and then you hear the uncapping of a bottle.

            “I’m going to take my time opening you,” he says raucously. “I’m going to go slow. Yeah, because I don’t want to hurt you, but also because I want to see you going crazy from my fingers. You’ve already gotten this hard over just my words, imagine how bad you’ll be once I actually touch you.”

            You whine audibly and press your face further into the bed, so embarrassed that he knows exactly how to get to you. He grips your ass between his thumb and three fingers as he places his last digit at your entrance, allowing it to slide right in – actually, it probably doesn’t slide right in, but you’re not used to always using lube, so it feels a lot smoother than usual. You can feel the pressure as he slowly pushes in and you’re already a mess; you don’t know if you’re going to be able to handle all of his fingers. You’re actually terrified that you might come too fast. You wiggle your hips to try to feel his finger better.

            “Stop moving,” he says, a sharp slap from his hand landing against your ass. You gasp and lift your head up; he leans in quickly, his finger still working its way in, and kisses where he slapped you. Then he says quietly, “Was that okay?”

            “ _Yes_ ,” you groan, shutting your eyes tight and turning your head to the side.

            “I thought so,” he says, his voice dark once again. “Because you clenched around my finger.”

            “Oh,” you sigh, gathering the sheets up into your mouth and biting down hard. You hate that your body can give you away like that – then again, there’s not much more to give away. Mizuki knows exactly how badly you want this. And how badly you want him. None of this is all that surprising.

            “Your ass is so good at taking my finger,” he says, and the pride in his voice actually makes you flush. “I’m not surprised, of course, since you want me so bad. Are you ready for a second?”

            “Uh huh,” you nod messily into the sheets, and he gives you a second finger. It’s still not the most palpable feeling in the world, but the pressure intensifies still and you can tell he’s really trying to work you open as he thrusts his fingers in and out slowly but harshly. He leans into you, rubbing his lips against your ass.

            “How is your skin so smooth?” he asks, and you think his tongue is running down your thigh. “It’s so pale and so smooth… I want to mark it up. Just a little, though. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want you to remember that I was here later, when you’re at home…”

            He tilts his head up and eventually you start to feel a sharp sting rising in your upper thigh. The skin is more sensitive there on anyone and you’re no exception. You grind your teeth together.

            “When you’re at home,” he repeats, the sting gone for just a moment before he bites again. “I want you to think of me…” Another bite. “And I want you to get so turned on…” Finally, a bite followed by a more comforting sucking, and you accidentally press your ass backwards, into his mouth. “So turned on that you have to jerk off right then and there, thinking of how good I fucked you tonight.”

            You feel two fingers scissor you apart and you want to lift your head up to cry out, but without the use of your arms, you can’t do much of anything but prop yourself up on your chin and try to catch your breath.

            “Fuck, you sound incredible.”

            Oh. You didn’t realize you were being so loud – but you are. You’re whining, high-pitched and noisy, each wail dotted with stifled breaths, and you can’t help it. Mizuki is driving you crazy and you can’t believe he’s only got two fingers in. This is going to be a long night.

            “Tell me how you feel, Noiz.”

            You groan. He pulls his fingers out completely and you swallow hard. When he pushes back in, you can tell there’s three fingers, all covered in lube. You take a deep, languid breath that lasts as long as it takes him to push all three fingers knuckles-deep, all the way in. He starts to circle all three around inside you and you jump.

            “Tell me,” he repeats. “How does this feel?”

            “Good,” you manage. That isn’t good enough, though.

            “No,” he says, smacking your ass again. You start and he snickers; you must have tightened around him again. “Use you words. Tell me how good it feels.”

            “So _good_ ,” you sob, nodding your head into the bed.

            “ _Tell me_.”

            You bring head up to breathe again and push back on his fingers.

            “Deeper,” you mumble. His fingers stop momentarily.

            “What was that?”

            “ _Deeper_ ,” you repeat. He shakes his head.

            “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean. You need to tell me in detail what you want me to do.”

            Damnit, Mizuki. You groan from the back of your throat and start to fuck yourself against his fingers.

            “I want you to finger me deeper,” you say. “Hit my – my –”

            It’s an embarrassing, strange word to say out loud. You shrug your shoulders in humiliation.

            “Your what?”

            “Hit me _there_ ,” you beg, hoping it’s enough. Of course, it isn’t.

            “I don’t know what you’re asking me to do,” Mizuki says. He’s still frustratingly still, so you try to circle your ass around his fingers instead. It doesn’t work, and he starts to pull them out again. You moan in protest.

            “My prostate,” you say through gritted teeth.

            “ _Oh_ ,” he coos as he continues to extract his fingers. Why is he doing that? You said it, you said what he wanted you to say, and now he should be finger-fucking you again, hard and deep and rough.

            “Mizuki –”

            “Well, if you want me to get _deeper_ ,” he says, “I know just the thing.”

            Oh. He’s going to fuck you now – thank fuck. You _really_ don’t want to come before he’s got his dick inside you, but the way he was controlling his fingers, you thought you might. You hear him fiddling around behind you, but when you try to crane your neck to see, you can only make out the lube bottle again. You try to discern what’s going on by sounds alone, but when you hear the lube bottle open again, you realize he hasn’t torn open a condom.

            “Are you nice and open already?” he asks. You nod into the bed, accompanied by a sorrowful, _“Uh huh.”_  Is he going to fuck you without a condom? After all this trouble and talk about being safe? You can’t believe that. You try to adjust your head again, but before you can look awkwardly between your legs at him, something pushes into you again and you open your mouth in a silent scream. Only a surprised, throaty groan comes out.

            “ _Fuck_!” you whisper, staccato breaths interrupting the word.

           “This might go deeper than my fingers,” Mizuki says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Is this okay?”

            You nod again into the sheets.

            “Noiz,” he hums. “You need to tell me clearly. Is this okay?”

            “ _Green_ ,” you breathe. “ _Green!”_

            “Good,” he says. “Now tell me more.”

            What? What more does he want you to tell him? You just said yes, this was okay – more than okay. This was good, this was perfect, and this is exactly what you’ve always wanted. Mizuki doing whatever he wanted to you, and you feeling absolutely safe and protected and so _fucking_ turned on.

            You take too long to answer. Mizuki sits up on his knees, one hand still on the dildo breaching you, and draping himself over your back. He grabs your hair with his other hand and pulls your head up sharply.

            “Tell me that you like this,” he says. “Tell me _exactly_ how much you like this.”

            Your throat is pushed against the bed and you close one eye as you wince, but you love it. You don’t know that you can word that right now though, because Mizuki pulling your hair is too much for you – in a good way.

            “I – green – I – ”

            “Use your words, like a big boy.”

            “ _Ugh_ ,” you groan. Mizuki praising you. You might pass out. “I like – I love it. Please – please…”

            You want to ask him to keep going, but you’ve already said ‘green,’ what more does he want? He’s sliding the dildo into you slowly but so excruciatingly confidently that you just want to angle your ass to make it hit your prostate exactly how you want it to. You want him to shove it in, really, you want him to shove it in hard and rough and start fucking you with it until you’re coming all over the bed, but you’re sure he’ll make you beg for it eventually, so you try to hold off on saying anything until he tells you to.

            “Please what?” he implores you to continue. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

            “Yes,” you inhale. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

            “I have something better.”

            There’s a snapping noise and a pause – you’re confused at first, waiting for him to tell you what it is, but then you hear the whirring noise and you feel your ass pulsating. It’s not a dildo, it’s a vibrator.

            “Fuck!” you scream. Mizuki gasps.

            “I’ve never heard you shout that loud before,” he laughs. He bites your ear lobe and whispers in his calm voice, “Should I turn it down?”

            “No! Green!” you scream again, screwing your eyes shut so tight you see dots. You almost never use vibrators anymore and you don’t know why, other than that they feel so _good_ and you don’t deserve to feel that way. But Mizuki knows – Mizuki knows that a vibrator will make your dulled sense of touch awaken, and he probably doesn’t realize it, but he’s also just made it clear that he thinks you deserve it. You deserve to feel good.

            No. You’re sure he knows how clear he’s made that. He’s tried to make you understand that from day one.

            You push back yet again on the vibrator. Your hands slam up and down in pleasure on the small of your back. Fuck. _Fuck_. It’s easy enough to restrain yourself since your cock has been untouched the entire time, but you’re still trying so hard not to come as Mizuki sits back on his knees again so that he can fuck you better.

            “Tell me that you like it.”

            His voice is low and throaty and he speaks quickly as he pulls the vibrator out and then shoves it back in. Yeah, that’s perfect. You moan.

            “I love it,” you say again. “Just fuck me.”

            “You want me to fuck you?”

            “Yes.”

            “How hard?”

            “ _Harder_ ,” you groan. “Fuck me harder.”

            He shifts up again and suddenly you feel his nails on your dick. Your hands scrunch into fists and you open your mouth to whimper wildly.

            “I can’t believe how bad you want this, Noiz,” Mizuki chides. “You’re _desperate_ for me, aren’t you?”

            “Yes,” you nod. Your tongue slumps out just barely onto the sheets.

            “You want me to fuck you faster?”

            “Yes.”

            “Beg me.”

            “ _Please_ ,” you sob. “Please fuck me faster.”

            “Tell me how desperate you are.”

            “ _Please_ ,” you repeat. “Please fuck me, I’m so desperate for you to fuck me.”

            The vibrator starts to pick up its pace, but the palpitations are enough to send you close to the edge anyway. Then Mizuki’s nails drag laboriously down your shaft and to your balls; Mizuki has to adjust awkwardly to pull against the back of them, but it makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

            “Please,” you babble. “Please, fuck me harder. I’m such a slut, I want you to fuck me harder.”

            The vibrator pauses. Mizuki’s hand stills. Your eyes flutter open.

            Then the vibrator slams back in and – it hits your prostate. You practically howl in pleasure and Mizuki’s lips find your ear once again.

            “There’s nothing wrong with being a slut,” he whispers. His nails find a piercing and tug at it forcefully. You yelp. “I’m only jealous that you’ve had more sex than I have. You should help me get my numbers up.”

            “Fuck me,” you plead. There are no thoughts going through your brain. Mizuki doesn’t care that you’re a slut and as far as you’re concerned, that’s enough to marry him. Hell, you tried to marry him earlier. You would have married him months ago.

            “You want me to fuck you?”

            “ _Fuck me_.”

            The vibrator is gone. You hear a buckling noise but you’re still too far-gone to realize right away that it’s Mizuki taking his pants down. You don’t remember that he’s still fully dressed while you’re completely naked below him. When you smell the familiar scent of lubricant – or spermicide, you’re not sure what it is that makes them smell so bad – you lick your lips and wait for his dick to enter you.

            “You look so good, Noiz,” Mizuki says suddenly, and he sounds almost as desperate as you feel. He’s rolling the condom on breathlessly as he stares at your naked body. You’re embarrassed at the idea that he can see your ass, open and ready for his dick, but it also makes your own cock even harder. “These fucking – hickeys look so good on you. Fuck, you’re so hot.”

            He’s finally behind you, his dick lubed and covered and you feel the tip circle your entrance. You close your eyes and open your hands, stretching your fingers wildly, preparing for Mizuki’s dick –

            But when he starts to push it in, you don’t even realize. You’re distracted by the hand he places in yours.

            You clamp down, pressing your fingers tightly against his. You don’t want him to let go.

            He drives in slowly but forcefully, and you have to groan a bit – the pressure is intense and harder to ignore when it’s unhurried and deliberate like this, but it also feels so much better once you acclimate. You hear a labored breath above you. Then Mizuki’s nails are back on your dick, pulling on your piercings, and you turn yourself over to it all.

            First he allows himself all the way in, then pulls out slowly and does it again. You groan fitfully each time, but he eventually picks up the pace and builds up a solid rhythm, and it’s fast and rough and animalistic, just like you wanted. It’s Mizuki, wanting to fuck you just as desperately as you want him to fuck you.

            Neither of you speak another word. The slapping sound of skin on skin fills the room and it would be awkward and embarrassing if you weren’t so fucking turned on and ready to orgasm; Mizuki shoves you forward so hard with each thrust that your breathing is stunted and it starts to escape you louder and louder as you gasp to get a full breath. You’ve become so intimately acquainted with the sheets by now that you assume it’s okay with them – and Mizuki – if you drool on them a little bit. You can’t really help it, anyway. Your mouth is open and it’s hard to contain yourself when Mizuki’s cock feels this good.

            And you don’t think about anything when you orgasm – you don’t even think about Mizuki. You don’t say his name; you don’t say anything. It hits you so hard and so forcefully that you can’t use your brain whatsoever. It comes from the perfect spot deep inside of you, and for the first time in so long, you can actually _feel_. You don’t know how Mizuki does it, but he does. Every time Mizuki fucks you, he makes you _feel_ it.

            You can’t tell when Mizuki comes, especially not since it’s all contained to the condom, but when he pulls out, he rubs his nails down your ass and thigh comfortingly. That’s when your legs can’t hold you up any longer and you fall to the bed, splayed open even more gracelessly for Mizuki to see when he comes back from throwing his condom away. He’s undressed now, though you don’t know when he took his leather off – not that you’re complaining about a nude Mizuki. He puts a hand on your ass and squeezes it.

            “How are you?”

            His voice is so full of concern, but it doesn’t need to be. You realize that this was some of the tamest sex you’ve ever had. He immediately begins to untie you, and you sort of shrug at him. To be sure, it was _incredible_ and you’d like to do it again, but you’d like to – do a bit more next time, if you’re being honest.

            “I’m fine,” you say. It takes him some time and concentration for him to remove your binds, so you remain quiet as he does so. You feel awkward for expecting so much more. Then again, he said you were going to take it slow – you just didn’t realize it could go _this_ slow.

            Maybe it’s a good thing. It means you have a _lot_ of stuff left to do with him.

            “Here,” Mizuki says, pulling the rope off you finally and dropping it to the floor. “Sit up. Let me look at you.”

            You watch him silently as he pulls your arms up and inspects you. If you hadn’t just come, you’d probably be getting hard again by how closely he’s looking over your naked body. He mostly feels over your wrists with his thumbs – they’re slightly red, but you can already tell that won’t last.

            “Is there anything you needed to talk about?” he asks. “Was there anything you didn’t like?”

            “No,” you shake your head. “It was – pretty vanilla.”

            “Vanilla?” he smiles incredulously. “I told you I wanted to take it slow.”

            “And you want to start that next time, then?” you ask with a smirk.

            “Ha, ha, fine. You can make fun of me, but I’m just making sure I’m not hurting you. I only want you to enjoy it.”

            He quirks an eyebrow and stares you down and you feel silly. He’s right. He’s just trying to make you feel good. You sigh.

            “Sorry,” you tell him. You turn around and settle into his lap. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and rests his face against yours. “Was there anything – _you_ didn’t like?”

            “You called yourself a slut,” he says quickly. He’s been waiting to say that. You wince. “I didn’t love that, but it was okay. I just wanted to make sure it was in the scene and that you didn’t – think you deserved anything bad to happen to you for it.”

            “You keep saying stuff like that,” you tell him. “I – I don’t think that.”

            The tiniest voice in the back of your head whispers that you might still think that. You ignore it.

            “Okay,” Mizuki nods, nuzzling into you. “I know people made you think you did. I just want to make sure you know you don’t.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean… I know your parents were shitty… I know that makes it hard. Sometimes it comes out in weird places. I wanted you to know that just because your parents are assholes doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”

            You furrow your brows and your vision starts to blur.

            “I mean,” he continues with a shrug, “I just think you’re really strong. You already came a long way, from trying to blow me in my bathroom. I mean – not that being a slut is a bad thing, again. But… you don’t have to have sex with people to mean something. You mean a lot to me.”

            You stare up at the ceiling pointedly. You stare so hard that your eyeballs seem to be straining.

            “Sorry, I just… meant to say that I love you. And I hate that other people have hurt you. Because you don’t deserve that. I hope you liked that. What we did, I mean. I hope I made you feel okay.”

            “What are you doing?” you ask suddenly. Mizuki makes a confused noise from the back of his throat.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Why are you being so nice to me?”

            “I guess I’m doing aftercare,” he says bluntly. You frown.

            “What?”

            “ _Aftercare_ ,” he repeats himself, and then he lets out a slight gasp. “You know what aftercare is, don’t you?”

            A tear falls. You’re not sad, you’re just embarrassed – and not like you were when your ass was on display for him. That was a _good_ kind of embarrassed. You don’t know why he’s being nice to you and now you don’t understand what he’s talking about you. You _hate_ remembering that you’re young and unwise compared to Mizuki; you hate reminding him of that through your stupidity. You feel too dumb to respond. He pushes your shoulders forward and tries to turn you around.

            “Noiz,” he insists, clumsily shifting you around. “ _Noiz_ , have you – fuck, I’m so stupid. Of course you’ve never had aftercare.” You refuse to move because you don’t want him to see you crying. He calls himself stupid and you’re mad – this is how he probably felt when you called yourself a slut.

            “What’s aftercare?” you mutter angrily.

            “Turn around and look at me –”

            “No, what’s aftercare?” you say, angrier still. You just want an answer.

            “It’s when the Dom takes care of the sub afterwards,” he says quietly. “It’s when I make sure you’re okay and you remember that it’s all just a scene. It’s when I tell you that I love you and do whatever else you need.”

            You still. You try to breathe but it’s not coming. He opens his mouth:

            “What do you need?”

            Apparently, what you need is to cry.

            The first few sobs are silent; you shut your eyes and try to stifle the tears, but it’s useless. Mizuki’s hands are still wandering around your chest, but he’s stopped trying to move you. He’s trying to give you time to answer, but you’re not going to. You don’t know where this came from; this indescribable urge to let go of everything, but it’s here and you’re helpless to stop it.

            Sometimes you cry on your bathroom floor for no reason. Sometimes you simply crumple into a ball and hold your head between your knees, bawling until you’re dry and there’s nothing left to cry out of your system. You can’t help but think of Emmerich most times, though recently Mizuki pops into your head. Your parents jump in there on occasion too, as well as all the people you’ve slept with, but none of it makes sense. Everyone is one big jumbled mess in your head, just like you.

            This is like that. You’ve never cried like that in front of anyone else, but here you are, in Mizuki’s lap, trying as hard as you can not to let that _one loud cry out –_ but there it is, a loud, gasping need for air, and Mizuki tenses.

            Apparently, what you need is to _sob_.

            “Noiz,” Mizuki coos desperately, his arms tightening around you. He leans forward to try to hug you firmer. You reach up to hold his arms in your hands, digging your nails into his skin. His lips press against your head. “Do you need something? What’s wrong?”

            You can’t answer for crying. It’s too much. There’s too much. Emmerich looks just like you and you look just like your father. Mizuki has the same eyes as him too, you just remembered. Sometimes Trip will glide a finger down your stomach and hold you up by your hips when he’s fucking you and that’s oddly comforting, like he’s making sure you don’t fall over. Your mother always smelled like roses and Emmerich’s fingers always looked so soft under the slit of the door. Once, a girl you slept with told you that you were the hottest person she’d ever fucked and you never forgot that; sometimes you wish Mizuki would say that to you, too, even though you hated it when it came out of her poisonous lips. The few times you got to come out of your room and see your family, your father looked increasingly tired. You’re tired too.

            You press the heels of your hands against your eyes and gasp for air. Your chest heaves heavily, clipped breaths escaping your lungs as Mizuki pulls you even closer to him. He even starts to wrap his legs around you and just when you’re sure you can never face him again, he says:

            “It’s okay. Just cry as much as you need to.”

            You turn into his shoulder abruptly and push him against the bed.

            You’re both still naked as you bawl into his skin. He doesn’t mind. He gets you water and some cookies after you’re done, and then blots at your nose with a tissue. You hug his pillow as he curls against your back, spooning you consolingly and even though you can’t feel his nails grazing your arm, knowing that he’s doing it is consolation enough. You’re still whining pitifully and trying to catch your breath when he presses his lips against your ear and says, “You know that it’s all going to be okay, right?”

            You wail. Then you nod against the pillow. You really believe it, too.

            “Are you crying because of the sex?”

            You shake your head violently. The last thing you want sweet, gentle Mizuki to think is that you’re crying because of him.

            “Okay. That’s good. I’m here, Noiz. Talk to me when you need to.” You thrust your face into the pillow in embarrassment. “Sometimes it just helps to cry, doesn’t it?”

            “ _Yes_ ,” comes your muffled response. It really does. And it helps that Mizuki doesn’t worry about you for it. It helps that Mizuki knows it happens sometimes. It helps that he knows that sometimes, you just need to bawl your eyes out.

            “I know,” he nods into your back gently. You think he kisses you. “I do it all the time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mizuki could fuck my ass tbh


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> these, noiz will come to remember... are the bad times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **cw** talk of child abuse. oh and i made up a word in this chapter, see if you can spot it c:
> 
> i felt bad because ive spent so long on this fic when i used to update weekly so two updates in one week why not

            You find yourself thinking of Mizuki the next time you have sex, which happens sort of spontaneously and you didn’t have much time to think about it. You got turned around in an alleyway and the guy propositioned you. He seemed very laidback about it, like he just wanted to get off, and your immediate reaction was to agree, so you did, and he took you to his tiny, studio apartment across the street, where you find yourself on your hands and knees on his musty bed.

            You don’t even ask him to use a condom; he just opens one up and rolls it on after groping your ass and thighs for a while. You don’t stop him because he really _digs_ his nails in, and you know that it’s creating little yellow bruises that will blossom into red scratch marks in a few hours’ time; you always liked that hurting someone could be so colorful. Not that he’s hurting you, certainly not on purpose, and not that you could feel it if he was. He’s rough enough that you can tell his nails are there, on that sensitive part that Mizuki bit just a few days ago. The hickeys are still there, fading though they are, and you realize that must be why he finally put on a condom. He knows you sleep around. He assumes you must be dirty. He figures he needs to protect himself.

            That used to turn you on a lot more. Now you sort of want to turn over your shoulder and tell him that you’re always safe and you just got tested a couple weeks ago so you’re clean, but he starts to fuck you so quickly that you let it all go and bury your head in his pillow. It’s just as humid and foul smelling as the rest of his apartment, but whatever, this is fine.

            He’s not terrible. He’s not an asshole who wants to hurt you. He’s not Virus or Trip or any of the people who abused you. He’s just some random guy who wanted to fuck a twink like you, and you’re okay with that. He’s young actually; he might only be a few years older than you. He may even been younger than Mizuki, though he looks more like Koujaku. He covers your back with his body and rests his heavy chest against you, either so into the act of fucking you that he doesn’t notice the awkward, flatulence-like sounds of his chest suctioning off your back, or he’s ignoring it. You ignore it, too. Kind of. He can’t see your face so he can’t see you roll your eyes, but then he hits your prostate and your eyes roll into the back of your head instead.

            “Dig your nails in,” you say when he grips your dick. He pauses.

            “What?”

            “Pull on the piercings.”

            “You a masochist?”

            You roll your eyes again.

            “Sure,” you mutter. It does the trick. He scrapes his nails against your dick and pinches the skin where your ass meets your thighs and you manage to get off enough to come, but it’s only because you’re thinking of Mizuki. A naked Mizuki, on his back, getting pounded into by your pierced dick and mewling like a desperate slut. A bound Mizuki, his wrists tied and his mouth gagged so all he can give is muffled moans as you eat him out slowly, torturously. A leather-clad Mizuki, a Mizuki that you know legitimately loves the feel of leather and holy shit, you just realized that Mizuki _wears leather every day_ but he also gets off to it, does that mean he’s getting off in public? At his job? During casual conversation? It’s the thought of Mizuki stealing a moment alone at Black Needle to brace his palms against a wall as he rubs his dick against it, just to feel the leather against him that makes you come. You don’t know what leather feels like, but it looks – you don’t have any point of reference for what it _looks_ like it feels like, but it must be good. You also don’t have any point of reference for what a “good” feeling really is, but if it’s half as nice as how you feel when Mizuki makes you come, it’s a good fucking feeling.

            This guy makes you feel alright.

            It’s almost worse than Virus and Trip, because at least you feel _something_ with them. Mizuki is slow and deliberate and you have no choice but to focus on the sensations he gives you; Virus and Trip are so fucking rough that you have no choice but to _feel_ theirs. This guy just – fucks you. He doesn’t hate you. He isn’t taking anything out on you. It’s unfulfilling in a lot of ways. You haven’t felt like this since long before you started fucking Virus and Trip, and you definitely have never felt this way with Mizuki. This was just to get off sexually. This was a little bizarre.

            Why didn’t you just do this with Mizuki?

            You never used to question things like this. It was always more appealing when they treated you like shit, when they fucked you harder than you wanted and when they humiliated you, but you didn’t _mind_ sex just to have sex, especially when they wanted an orgasm. You felt like you were fulfilling some civic duty, like at least you contributed to society _somewhat_ today. You gave the guy who goes to work every day from nine to five to keep civilization functioning a nice ass to fuck, and you didn’t even charge him for it. Of course you didn’t, because this wasn’t your _job_. You’re not a sex worker. They’re far more valuable than you.

            That’s how you used to feel, at least. Now the thought makes you wince because you know Mizuki wouldn’t like to hear you say that.

            He pulls out and you unearth your head from the pillow, happy to simply grab your clothes and tug them on and leave. He doesn’t say anything as he redresses, so you assume he wants the same. You lift your head and turn your body to sit up and regain your balance, but it never comes.

            The back of your head burns. It stings, in a way you don’t feel often; in a way you haven’t felt in years. You know it’s a headache but if it’s strong enough for you to actually hurt, it must be severe. You close your eyes and pinch the back of your head between your fingers. That sort of helps, if only because it gives you a different sensation to focus on. It doesn’t quite quell the pain at all –

            “Dude.”

            You open your eyes to total darkness. At first you panic. Have you gone blind? Is that what this headache was? Are you never going to be able to see Mizuki’s lovely face again?

            No. You fell forward into the blanket. You must look ridiculous. But when you take your fingers away from your head, it feels better again. You breathe out nervously, almost like a scared chuckle, and sit up to look at the guy.

            “You okay?”

            You shrug. Fuck. Your fingers slap the back of your head again. It’s back, the searing line of stinging pain, and you wince with an audible gasp. He asks what’s wrong and he seems genuinely concerned, which throws you off. He stops dressing halfway through, pants half-buttoned and shirtless to rush to your side and put his hand on your knee and your shoulder and you can’t do much else but stare at him oddly as you breathe deeply through your mouth.

            “Do you need help?”

            What is he doing? Is he trying to help you? Who does he think he is? He’s not Mizuki.

            “No,” you shake your head, but that makes you wheeze again. You press the heel of your hand firmly against the pain as you gather your clothes and start to pull them on. He tries to stop you, asks if you want to go to the hospital, but you scoff at him as you finally get your shirt on and pull out your Coil on your way to his front door. He calls after you but you’re gone and his bewildering behavior stops once you close the door behind you. You call Mizuki. He picks up on the third ring.

            “Are you coming over tonight?”

            It’s bright outside and it kills your eyes the minute you step into the sunshine. You’re squinting at your screen, your hand up with the Coil projecting in front of you and your other hand still applying pressure to your head. You think you can make out that Mizuki is at Black Needle, and if you weren’t so terrified that you were dying right now, you’d be feeling pretty good that his first question was to make sure you’d be over for him to fuck tonight.

            But as it is, you _are_ dying. And that means you might never get to fuck Mizuki again. Rest in peace, Kristian Haass, great fuck.

            “Come get me,” you pant. “Please.”

            “Noiz?” he calls. His voice has the same timbre as the guy when he asked if you were okay but for some reason it simply makes more _sense_ when it’s Mizuki. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

            You manage to walk onto a main street, doubled up in pain, and find the street sign to tell him where you are, but by the time you see him rushing up to you, crumpled against the wall of an alley, your headache is gone. You’re a little weak so he helps you up but you’re mostly ashamed that the pain has subsided and he came to get you for no reason. You’re embarrassed that you called him at all.

            He doesn’t seem to care.

            He takes you back to his place and lets you snuggle into his bed before he brings you water and some aspirin, though you’re not sure what he thinks that’s going to do for a person who can’t feel pain. You take them anyway and he presses his legs against your chest when he gets into bed with you. He stays above the covers but throws his arm around you and looks down at you thoughtfully. He’s got his leather gloves on. You wonder if he’s horny.

            “So what happened?” he asks. Your eyes feel heavy and you shake your head. You don’t want to tell him, but you know he’s not going to let you get away without an explanation.

            “I don’t know,” you mumble against his thigh. “My head hurt and it scared me.”

            You hear his grip tighten against your shoulder.

            “It just started hurting?”

            “Yeah.”

            “What were you doing?”

            You groan. You’re not telling him that.

            “Working out.”

            “Yeah _right_ ,” he scoffs. “Working out with another dude on top of you?”

            “I was working out,” you mutter again. You both know what you were doing but that’s all the more reason not to say it out loud.

            “And your head just – ?”

            You take a deep breath. He doesn’t care you were fucking someone else and that still confuses you.

            “Yeah,” you say. “I guess my head was getting knocked around.”

            “Hm,” he hums skeptically. You can hear the amusement in his tone. Then he gets up and starts to leave. You sit up.

            “Where are you going?”

            “Have you eaten today?” he calls over his shoulder. You sigh. You don’t reply because he’s already out the door and you know that your silence is answer enough.

            He brings you an apple and some peanut butter and sits cross-legged at the foot of the bed as you sit up to eat. He tells you if you were light-headed and then “engaged in heavy physical activity” then it’s not out of the ordinary that your head might react unfavorably, but you hardly listen for watching his lips as he talks. He says next time it happens you just need to pause and breathe and then he starts to poke at your knee and picks up a cat from the floor to put between you. The cat sniffs the food in your hands and you have to convince a giggling Mizuki to keep a hold of her. Mizuki puts the cat on the floor when you’ve finished eating and the cat darts out of the room, as if she knows he’s going to pull you into his lap and ask if you’re better. As if she knows you’re going to say yes and lean in to kiss him. As if she knows Mizuki is going to lay you down on the bed and ask if this is okay, as if she knows you’re going to nod fervently and you’re going to rub your dick against his and that he’s going to bite your bottom lip until it’s bruised. As if she knows you’re going come a second time between your and Mizuki’s bodies and that this orgasm was _so much better_ than the first.

            You have to bite your lip when you think about Mizuki in public. Sometimes – a lot of times – it’s because you’re thinking something inappropriate, like how he squeaks just once before he groans as he orgasms, but just as often it’s because you’re playing out some fantasy that seems more palpable to you than ever. Calling someone your boyfriend was something you used to scoff at, mostly because it hurt too much to admit that you’d never have it, so you pretended you didn’t want it.

            It still hurts a little bit, to know that you _don’t_ actually have it and that you don’t entirely understand why. But you’re the closest you’ve ever been; sometimes you even forget he’s not your boyfriend, not really, because he acts like it so much. You still stay at your own place most nights, but he doesn’t mind that you have clothes at his place now. He’s still never been to your apartment, mostly because you’ve never offered. It doesn’t seem necessary for him to come see your bare, sterilized living space, not when he has such a sweet, cozy place filled with cats and quilts and noodles and alcohol. The alcohol is for him. The noodles are for you (and sometimes the cats, when they get to the bowl if you leave it unattended for too long).

            Sometimes you mix the two fantasies. One day, you imagine, you’ll go to work in a button-up and tie and when you come home Mizuki will already be home from Black Needle – or maybe he doesn’t even leave the home because now you live in a mansion somewhere and he’s a successful painter – and he’ll be wearing a pink apron with frills and absolutely nothing else when you walk through the door. He’ll serve you dinner and sit in your lap and ask about your day before riding you bareback – you’re married now, and monogamous, so you can do it without protection – and screaming into your ear about how good your piercings feel rubbing inside of him.

            The next day, you’ll be wearing the apron. The food may be a little burned, though. You’ve never been as good a cook as Mizuki.

            Kids never enter into the fantasy for you, although sometimes Emmerich does. You’re not sure why you equate the two, other than the last time you saw him, he still was a kid. You wonder what he looks like now. You wonder if he’d call you Noiz if you asked him to.

            You wonder if you should call him. You wonder that a lot these days.

            You’re on your way to Mizuki’s again, two days after the headache, and you’re wondering if you should finally suck it up and try to call your baby brother. He must be working for your dad by now, or else he’d have found a way to contact you. Months ago, you would have assumed that he just didn’t care to find you again, but now you’re convinced he _must_ be being forced not to communicate with you. There’s no other explanation. He didn’t listen to your parents when they told him not talk to you as kids, so why would he listen now? His hands must be tied. You’d like to tie Mizuki’s hands tonight.

            Talking to Emmerich again is big. You’d like to do it, but you wonder what he would say. Not that you’re worried he’d tell you to leave him alone, but you wonder what he _has_ to say. Does he have a wife? Girlfriend? Is he in love? Is he even straight? He had a crush on a girl once when he was a child, but so did you, and you’re on your way to fuck another boy’s ass now, so you suppose you could believe anything he might tell you. You simply wonder what his life is. You wonder what he has to tell you.

            There’s something small in front of you.

            You’re lost, your head is swimming in low fog, in the fantasies you have about marrying Mizuki and moving in with Emmerich. You don’t notice that there’s a tiny human in front of you until after you’ve run into them.

            “Fuck,” you mutter, trying to untangle yourself from the person, but before you can do much else, two more tiny humans ambush you. You’re thrown to the ground and this is such a familiar situation that it doesn’t occur to you that if they’re half your size, they’re probably children. You fight back instantly, your brain unconsciously reacting to a threat, assuming it’s the gang of some dude you’ve fucked over, like it so often is. You kick your foot out and hear a squeal, but your hand is already up, grasping at someone’s ankle, and that’s finally when it all clicks. These are not tiny humans. These are children.

            You’re gripping Mio’s slight ankle in your hand. You lift your head up and when you lock eyes with her, she’s tearing up.

            “Fuck!” you cry, pulling your hand back. This is not what you meant to do. You reacted on instinct. It all happened so fast you hardly had a second to think. You scramble to your knees. “I’m sorry!”

            She yells something but it’s garbled through tears. It’s her brother in the mouse hoodie that you kicked, and the other one is helping him up. You put your hand out to try to console her, but she turns on her heel and runs away.

            “Why would you hit a _girl_?” one of her brothers cries. They both take off after her and the other calls over his shoulder, “We were just playing around! You’re a monster!” and your eyes go wide.

            It’s hardly been ten seconds since you made contact with little Mio and you’re left on your hands and knees on the empty side street near Mizuki’s place, slack-jawed and bug-eyed. You reach out one more time, as if you might still be able to catch Mio before she gets too far, but she’s not even in sight anymore. What just happened? You kicked a child. You certainly tried to hurt another. When you first met Mio, you kissed her hand because you thought it would be charming. When she didn’t like it, you hardly worried.

            Now you’re worried.

            You sit up on your knees and hear it over and over again, _“We were just playing around! You’re a monster!” “You’re a monster.” “You’re a monster!” “We were just playing around!” “Go to your room.” “We were just playing around! You’re a monster!” “How could you do that? You’re a monster.”_

It’s just as clear to you now as it was at Mizuki’s the night he fucked you with your hands tied behind your back, only that night it seemed so obvious that you _didn’t_ deserve bad things and now it’s just the opposite. Mizuki is an anomaly. Mizuki is this aberrant angel in a world of demons, monsters like Virus and Trip and you. And the guy who fucked you so hard you got a headache is some purgatorious middle ground, he’s just some person who you happened to meet at random and was apathetic towards you, because that’s the reaction you garner from people: indifference or resentment. People hardly even have the energy to hate you, and when they do, it’s how Koujaku hates you: only because he has to. Only because he sees right through you and has to deal with you anyway, because his best friend is too stupid to understand that you’re a –

            The word is too much for you. Your fingers tremble as you pick up your phone. You’re not going to make it to Mizuki’s any time soon. You want him to hug you. You want him to run his lips down your temple. You want him to tell you that you didn’t mean to hurt Mio so it’s not your fault, it’s okay, don’t be upset. They rushed you. It’s scary in a place like this to get mobbed. It’s okay. You’re not a monster.

            But since you _are_ a monster, you call the only other ones you know.

            And they want nothing to do with you.

            “You _what_?”

            You’re not surprised that Virus reacts to you like you’re terrible because yeah, you are, but you’ve never seen him _sincerely_ upset. You’ve hardly seen him sincere. Even Virus knows hurting kids is the worst thing you can do.

            You’re crouched in the corner of an alley, your arm elongated against the brick wall to cover your face, and you’re peering at the ground, pressing your phone up against your ear so tight that you might accidentally hit a button on it with your cheek. If you don’t hold it tight, your nerves might shake you so much that you drop it.

            “I didn’t mean to, just – do you want to meet at my place?”

            “What do you mean you kicked a kid?” Trip’s voice sounds faraway but curious. You’d laugh if you weren’t so freaked out. Virus doesn’t let you answer.

            “Noiz-san, that’s very serious. Hurting a child is truly the lowest of the low,” he tells you, but he doesn’t sound forced and airy like he usually does when he’s chastising you. He sounds like he’s actively reprimanding you, not sexually, but genuinely. They draw the line at hurting children. That’s a good line to draw, you’d agree, but you’re fairly sure these two have murdered people before, yet you’re openly remorseful and they don’t feel any need to take advantage of that?

            “Come on,” you prod. “Just come fuck me until I can’t breathe.”

            “I don’t think so—”

            “I let some guy fuck me so hard the other day I got a headache,” you whimper. “Don’t you want to try to outdo him?”

            Virus clears his throat. You hold your breath.

            “Having sex with you has never been a competition for us,” he says. “Clearly, if it was, Mizuki-san would have won.” Tears spring to your eyes. “In any case, we have plans tonight that we really can’t break.”

            “You’ll have to fuck yourself,” Trip adds. You throw the phone in a puddle and stalk back onto the street. There’s still no one here. It’s a small residential area, so you’re not surprised. You’re also fairly sure the only people you’re going to find here are young families – this is probably where Mio and her brothers live. You could probably find them if you looked hard enough, but you’re not sure you want to. You hardly know them. Before that wouldn’t have bothered you, but now you worry about the impression you make on people. Knowing that you can even _make_ a good impression on people – like you did on Mizuki – means you have to actually try to. Maybe most people wouldn’t deserve that, but kids do. Even Virus and Trip know that.

            Even Virus and Trip won’t hurt _kids_. Not like you.

            You crouch down again and hold your head between your arms. There’s too much swimming around your brain. You need to take stock. And you’re so fucking _lightheaded_ again. You need to eat something. You’re not sure you deserve to eat right now, though.

            You’re supposed to be at Mizuki’s in – right now, actually. He probably won’t call you for another hour or so though. He knows that you tend to run late and he doesn’t like to nag at you. You truly do not deserve Mizuki.

            You close your eyes and squeeze your head with your knees. You clasp your hands together around the back of your neck and rub your hat off and on your head a few times. Mizuki told you to do this. Mizuki told you that the next time you felt anxious, you should take a moment and breathe. So that’s what you do. You take a moment. And you breathe.

            You try to clear your mind, but your mind can never be cleared, not really. Someone’s always in there. Usually it’s Emmerich. A few times it’s been Koujaku. Sometimes it’s Virus and Trip. They’re still knocking around for dominance, in that you’re trying to come up with anything to say that might convince them to come fuck you after all. But you can’t think of anything. Ultimately, Mizuki pushes them out of your head. Mizuki sticks out his hand and says, “Come over, like we planned, you know I’ll know exactly what to say. Aren’t you sick of hating yourself? Don’t you want to be happy?”

            You groan and go back to get your phone from the puddle.

            You shove your hands deep into your pockets as you slog to Mizuki’s house.

            He can tell immediately that something is wrong. He says you look like a lost puppy and you trudge inside as he takes your hat off and drops it on the table by the door. He wraps his arms around your head and kisses you. He tastes like sugar. You tell him so and he smiles wryly; he says he’s had a few already and you try not to frown.

            “Why do you look so sad?”

            Every time you look into his eyes you’re diverted, you’re lost in him every single fucking time you see him. His beauty distracts you, but you know that most of that beauty comes from the fact that he wants to know why you’re sad, and not just because he’s got smooth skin and a taut stomach. A lot of what makes him beautiful to you is that he loves you. You wonder if that’s selfish. You have to take him in right now, because you worry that the next thing you say might make him run.

            “Hello?” he asks. You look away.

            “I ran into those three kids today,” you say quietly. He cocks his head to the side.

            “Three kids?”

            “The three kids I told you about forever ago.”

            “I don’t – remember.”

            "The ones I bought lunch for,” you tell him, turning back to meet his eyes. “They looked hungry. I asked you if that was weird.”

            “Oh!” he raises his eyebrows and tightens his grip around your neck. “That was so long ago. Yeah, I remember that now. So what happened?”

            You have to say it. You have to admit to him that you did exactly what you always do. Exactly what your parents locked you away for. And he fought so vehemently in your favor. You’re just sorry to disappoint.

            “I hurt them.”

            His expression doesn’t change. A few seconds pass.

            “You what?”

            You can’t say it again. You look away. He shakes you.

            “You what, Noiz? What do you mean? You didn’t hurt them on purpose, did you?”

            “Fuck, no,” you breathe, almost angrily. It’s almost inaudible and you cross your eyebrows as you look back at him. His arms are still around your neck.

            “Then what do you mean?”

            “I thought they were – I don’t know,” you say. You registered they were small. You just were too stupid to think they could possibly be fucking children. “They came at me and I got scared.”

            “Oh, Noiz –”

            “And I kicked one of them,” you cut him off. “And I had a hold of Mio’s ankle before I realized it was only them.”

            “That’s not the –”

            “And I stopped when I realized, but the kid called me a monster,” you say. Mizuki always stops and listens when you interrupt him but at those words, he opens his mouth in a small, apprehensive gasp. There’s something soothing in knowing he’s aware just how important that word is to you.

            His arms are still around your neck.

            He doesn’t reply. He’s waiting to see if you have anything else to say, but you don’t want to open your mouth again. You’ve already rambled a bit and you don’t want to continue. You don’t want to embarrass yourself more than you already have. You want to fall into bed with him. _But you don’t deserve that_.

            “Stop,” he says quietly, bringing his hand away from your hair finally and placing it on your chest. You look down at it and then at him in confusion. “You’re breathing fast. Slow down.”

            You are. You’re breathing fast because of Mio and also because you’re exhausted from trying to sort out your thoughts. You lick your lips and stare him dead in the eye. Every time your chest inhales, his hand follows it. Once you realize that he’s still here, he hasn’t run away, he hasn’t beaten you up, you calm down a little. You implore him with your eyes to say something. He seems to pick up on it.

            “So they came at you and you defended yourself?”

            Everything stops for a second.

            When he words it like that, it doesn’t sound so bad.

            “I guess,” you shrug, hesitant to accept that it’s not as bad as it seems.

            “Are they actually injured?”

            “I don’t think so,” you say. “They got up and ran away. But I could have killed Mio if I had pulled her down. She’s so tiny.”

            “If these kids run around the streets of Midorijima every day, they’re probably tougher than you think,” he says. He’s not proud or smiling about that. He’s actually resentful. “Especially if they’re attacking you to say hello.”

            “To say hello?”

            “Oh – well, what else would they be doing? They know you, don’t they?”

            You furrow your brows. Yeah, you suppose they do. Were they really just saying hello? They were. They were rushing you to startle you as a joke. But it terrified you because you’re used to people rushing you in revenge.

            “Yeah,” you say in defeat.

            “Don’t let this get to you,” he tells you. He pinches your cheeks and pulls them out. You scowl but let him pout your lips out. “You didn’t hurt them. You didn’t mean to. They’re kids. Maybe they’ll learn not to just attack people. I had to learn that shit the hard way after my parents abandoned me.”

            Your entire body slumps toward him. That’s the sort of thing that pierces right through you, and you’re fairly sure he wouldn’t have said if he wasn’t a little drunk. You put your hands on his hips and push past his grip, stealing his lips in a sloppy kiss. You force him toward the wall and his hands wrap around your neck again. His back hits the wall with force and you pull his waist toward yours as you deepen the kiss, turning your head to capture his mouth better and sticking your tongue in; he in turn opens his mouth to not only accept you, but also to bite down gingerly on your tongue piercing. You smirk and try to look him in the eyes but you can’t at your awkward angle. He pulls the piercing back and forth through its hole with his teeth. No one’s ever done that before and it’s strangely hot. He lets go and kisses your bottom lip.

            “I’d love to feel that piercing on my dick later,” he says calmly against your lips. All you can do is laugh, your mouth still open awkwardly around his. You hope your breath isn’t terrible. He doesn’t even flinch, so you assume it’s okay. You lick your lips again and finally look in his eyes.

            “You’re perfect,” you say. He chuckles.

            “No,” he shakes his head with a grin. “But I’m close.”

            He says it with a wink – not literally, but with a wink in his voice, like it’s some pseudo-tongue in cheek phrase, and it makes you whine a little.

            “You are,” you insist. You take his elbows and pull him until he’s flush against you and force his forearms against the wall on either side of you. “You’re absolutely perfect. I don’t understand how anyone could throw you away.”

            His arms stay where you put them, but he pulls his head away and cocks it to the side, observing you with curiosity.

            “What do you mean?”

            Oh. What _do_ you mean? You weren’t thinking. You just said what came into your head. It’s been a long day and a lot of thoughts have been floating around in there. It was a matter of time before one escaped against your will.

            “I just – meant – your parents,” you say cautiously. “I feel like I would have been able to tell the minute you were born.”

            “If you knew me when I was born, this would be a pretty fucked up relationship,” Mizuki laughs sardonically. You shake your head.

            “I’m just saying. How did they not know how perfect you were?”

            He’s still leaning into you though now his grin is gone, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and his mouth starts to move slightly, like he’s trying to think of exactly what to say that will demonstrate how shocked he is. He shakes his head in defeat, a small, almost incredulous smile on his face.

            “I’m not perfect Noiz,” he says. His voice is almost a whisper, save for the fact that his tone is deep and raspy. You tug at the hem of his shirt.

            “You are.”

            “I’m _not_ ,” he repeats. “That’s a dangerous precedent to set.”

            “You make me feel better about _everything_ ,” you tell him. “Before you, I didn’t care if I lived or died. Now I – I mean. When I’m… You always know exactly how to help me. Exactly what to say.”

            “Yeah, and one day I won’t –”

            “No—”

            “ _Yes_ ,” he says loudly, pulling himself up a bit and glaring at you. “One day you will come crying to me and I won’t know how to make you feel better.”

            “No…” you assure him. He takes a deep breath in frustration but you don’t get why he’s upset. You’re sure he’s just self-conscious. He doesn’t understand how pure he is. How could he? He never grew up with anyone who told him that, just like you. Of course he doesn’t know how perfect he is.

            “You have to listen to me,” he says gravely. “I am not perfect. I am never going to be. Just look at my fucking neck, you can see I’m not.”

            “That’s not – what I meant – ”

            “Yes it is,” he says, putting a hurried finger to your lips to silence you. “I put Dry Juice in danger. Dry Juice isn’t just a team. It was _people_. I put _people_ in danger because I couldn’t get over myself. I’m not perfect. Don’t tell me I’m perfect.”

            You pull your bottom lip into your mouth and bite down on it hard. You stare at him sadly, like a – lost puppy. You just want him to help you find your way home.

            “You’re perfect to _me_ ,” you say, before puckering your lips to kiss his finger. He looks down at your lips, almost angrily, and you stick your tongue out to wrap around his fingertip, then grab his wrist and push his fingers slowly into your mouth.

            He watches you, his eyes going from angry to intrigued – thought still a little annoyed – and you suck his three middle fingers deep into your throat, running your tongue piercing along them on their way back. He lets out a tiny whine and has to blink away his arousal. You don’t. You put it on full display. You look up at him with your lost-puppy-dog eyes and lick down the length of his fingers, then take them so far into your mouth that they hit the back of your throat. He quirks an eyebrow.

            “Please broaden your horizons,” he says. You take his fingers out of your mouth with a loud _pop!_

“I already have,” you say throatily. “I’m about to suck your dick better than anyone ever has.”

            You do, too; you make out with him as you push him into his bedroom, taking his jacket and t-shirt off as you go, then pulling his pants off and you take his dick into your mouth until it’s as far back as his fingers were. You lay your tongue flat against the underside and open your throat, allowing the head to ram into the back of your mouth over and over again. He comes in record time, at least, you like to imagine that it is, and he’s completely naked and trembling underneath you by the end of it. He’s so fucked out by your tongue piercing, the one you rolled between the cleft of the head of his dick that he can hardly get his garbled, _“Thank you,”_ out as you lay down beside him. You still have all your clothes on while he’s naked, and you think that’s sort of ironic, since you know you’ve been completely transparent with him yet wonder if he’s been the same with you.

            He wants to make you come next, but you’d rather he make you dinner instead. He cooks you noodles but before you can finish the bowl, he’s attacking you from behind and undoing your pants to take your dick out and stroke it.

            “Careful,” you whisper. “The last person who rushed me got hurt.”

            “It was an accident,” he says. His voice is so serious, even though his hands are wandering around your hips. “You’d never hurt them on purpose.”

            No. You’d never hurt anyone on purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one 2015 point to you if you got that my chapter summary was a Goodfellas reference


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> noiz hopes he will come to think of this as their first big fight as a couple -- even though they're not a couple, it wasn't a fight, and he doesn't know how there can be a second if they never see each other again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **cw** this chapter is really intense -- i don't wanna say that and then have it be underwhelming but like, a lot of personal emotion went into this chapter so to me, it feels really intense. intense sexual content, lots of mind-fucking and then lots of self-hatred, i'm not sure how else to cw it other than it took a lot of emotional energy for me to write it.
> 
> it's also the entire reason i ever started this fic. last -- july? august? i was talking to my friend em about how funny trip/koujaku would be as a ship, and maybe in the trip/koujaku universe, our favorite "mizuki and noiz become good friends" idea could turn romantic, which we had never cared for, really. but then we got more and more into it and i still remember the night i was watching bob's burgers and eating taco bell while we discussed this mizunoiz idea for hours. i thought back then that if i ever wrote it, it would just be for fun, maybe a 4 chapter fic, or even a oneshot, that would culminate with this chapter. now, 140k later, i haven't even ended the second act and am still finishing my plans for the third act of the stupid thing. wow.
> 
> i really hope this chapter satisfies because it was really important to me and idk why

            You’re still weak.

            Or, as Mizuki would insist, you still _have weak moments_. And he’d hesitate to even call them that. He likes to tell you that it’s understandable to _feel_ weak but that doesn’t mean you _are_ weak. But you really are; you are truly, deeply, unforgivably weak, and everything is still a clouded mess in your head. You ask Mizuki when he thinks he might want to be your boyfriend finally, and he turns to you in confusion, asking if you’re just sticking around because you’re waiting for him to be your boyfriend. You don’t know what he means, but he sounds offended so you sputter and stop speaking. He throws an arm around you and you try not to bring it up again, but you’d really, _really_ like to know if he’ll ever be your boyfriend.

            You ride Mizuki’s dick because you can’t resist him any longer even though he’s got a cold, but he tells you not to kiss him since he’d hate for you to catch what he has. Somehow, he still gets off before you do, through all his sniffling and sneezing. It’s unfathomably hot, that his nose is red and his eyes are sleepy, and after you orgasm, you make him soup and rub his shins while he falls asleep watching a movie in the living room. You keep the cats away and fed because he told you cats can catch sicknesses from humans and he’s worried because he’d never forgive himself if he got one of his cats sick. You’d never forgive _yourself_ if you didn’t help prevent it. He looks unreasonably cute with a blanket slung over his shoulders for a week straight. Koujaku doesn’t come visit once.

            Not while you’re around, anyway.

            You cry in the shower once, on accident, for no reason at all, other than the stress of wondering why Mizuki still wants you is finally starting to do more than just gnaw at you. It’s just an overwhelming pressure, that he doesn’t want to date you, he doesn’t want that _label_ , but he’ll fuck you and he’ll take you to dinner and he’ll sling an arm over your shoulders and nuzzle his head into yours in front of people but if they ask if you’re his boyfriend, he’ll just smile and say, “ _No, we’re just feeling things out.”_ What is he feeling out? You’ve felt things out, and you can’t even really feel anything. But you’ve felt Mizuki. You don’t know what he’s waiting for.

            It’s pressure. It pressures you. It weighs down on your shoulders until you feel like you’re going to sink into the earth, loveless and alone. That’s a little dramatic, but the idea of dying didn’t used to bother you, and now you have a small insecurity in the corner of your mind that you’ll die without ever having someone who loved you. Which isn’t exactly true, you suppose, because Mizuki _does_ love you, _does_ do the things you’d want a boyfriend to do, _does_ make sure you get home okay late at night and that you’ve had enough water and feel alright after a bad day. And to disregard that, _Emmerich_ certainly loved you and you never questioned that. Still, it can _feel_ like no one loves you, even if you know someone does. You _feel_ unloved, even when you know that you _are_ loved. Something about that sounds familiar, but you can’t place it.

            You’ll die without a boyfriend. It’s horrifying.

            Sometimes it’s all too much. You _want_ Mizuki, but you _crave_ Virus and Trip. As usual. You invite them over and they actually show up, which you weren’t sure you were expecting, not after the day you called and told them you hurt a bunch of kids. You tried to clear it up with them – for some reason you gave a shit what they thought – and they seemed to accept it. You were caught off-guard, you didn’t mean to hurt them, and you felt terrible afterwards.

            They made sure you truly felt bad enough ( _“This wasn’t a situation where you wanted them to feel as bad as your father made you feel, I hope.”)_ , then they helped you reconcile your sins ( _“Why don’t you sit there for a while with that plug in and think about what you’ve done?”)_ and you keep going back to them every time you remember that you are _such_ a wreck that Mizuki won’t even be your boyfriend. They relieve some of that pressure, just as always. You’re grateful for Virus and Trip. You hate Virus and Trip, but you’re grateful for Virus and Trip.

            You also think you’ve started to understand them better. Of course, you can never be certain you really comprehend them. You’re not sure anyone can ever truly comprehend them. But you do think you’ve come to expect the right things from them, outside of the brutally honest sex. They do complement each other in a way that you sort of appreciate now, and not ironically. They _get_ each other implicitly, as if they’ve been together their whole lives and you’d ask if that’s true if you thought you could stomach an hour-long headfuck of a discussion, but you don’t think you could so you leave it to your own imagination.

            Obviously, it’s too late for you to have known anyone your whole life, barring Emmerich, who you suppose doesn’t count because of this years-long gap, but you like to imagine that you and Mizuki have a relationship that makes up for not knowing each other your whole lives. You could have really used each other years ago, to rock each other to sleep, to comfort each other through hard times. At least –

            You want to say that _at least you have each other now_ , but that’s not true, is it? That’s why you have Virus and Trip in your bed, and that’s why even they’re annoyed at the frequency of your calls. Maybe annoyed isn’t the right word. Concerned. They’re concerned that you’ve been calling more. They’re concerned that you’ve been feeling down. They’re concerned that they’re going to run out of ways to ruin you. They’re concerned they’ve finally met their match, and you don’t know if that’s something that you should be proud of.

            Trip wants to tie you up, but before he does, you tell him you want to use a safe word. He pauses, stares at you blankly, and then turns to Virus, as if he can’t answer before first getting his input. Virus shrugs.

            “Of course.”

            You use “curtain.” Trip starts to tie you to the bedpost and you wonder if you should be graduating to this step with them and not Mizuki first. He’s only ever tied your hands behind and in front of you, never _to_ anything else. There was the time he tied them in front of you and had you hold the bedframe as he fucked you – that was incredible. But he’s never restrained you this fully. And when you pull against the metal rod of your bed, you realize that it really _is_ a different feeling. You don’t know why, because you’ve been tied to a bed before. Before Mizuki, you never noticed.

            There was the time Mizuki told you to turn around and put your hands on the wall. A shiver ran through you in a way you never thought you’d feel, and he bit your shoulder to hell as he fucked you against the wall, and after you both had come, he kissed them better and applied a bruise cream you couldn’t feel and didn’t understand. You asked how a lotion could make a bruise disappear, and he had some long and drawn-out explanation but you can’t remember it anymore because he concluded with, _“But really it’s just to calm you down and remind you that I’m here. I love you.”_

            Virus and Trip don’t worry about your bruises, and why should they? They don’t love you. They don’t want to calm you down. They _do_ like to remind you that they’re always there for you, waiting for your calls, but it’s not quite the same. In any case, you can’t forget that they’re there, because half the reason you show up at Mizuki’s late at night for these sexual encounters is because Virus and Trip rip you apart beforehand and you need Mizuki to put you back together. Mizuki is your aftercare. Mizuki is your comfort. Mizuki is your savior and you’re a fucking trope.

            Trip strips you of your pants and underwear and drops them over the edge of the bed. You’re already thinking of Mizuki. You’re already fantasizing about Mizuki cooing against your neck, nuzzling you down onto the couch and telling you how cute you look in your hoodie, how happy he is that he gets to cuddle you on his couch, how grateful he is that you choose to come see _him_ over anyone else, even when he’s – (he’ll cut himself off there, and you’ll beg him to continue, but he’ll kiss you until you forget all about it).

            Virus spreads your legs apart so _slowly_ and you stare at the window to your right. The room is bathed in blue and purple and twilight in Midorijima is a surprisingly beautiful thing and you used to pretend you didn’t notice it – before you found out how incredible it is to experience beautiful things with someone like Mizuki. He grabbed your hand from across the table once while you were sitting outside a restaurant with him and Koujaku and a few others; it was evening, the same time it is right now, and he told you he was having such a good time hanging out with you, and then he let go and went back to ribbing Koujaku for a recent strikeout with a girl. Twilight in Midorijima is a surprisingly beautiful thing, but if you think too hard right now, you might realize that you’re trapped inside at the moment, which is not a feeling you need to remember.

            Virus uses lube when he opens you. It’s five thirty-seven when he slides his first finger in, and five forty-five when he finally starts to put the second in. You don’t know how that time goes by so quickly. He and Trip are relatively silent, save for a few breathy reassurances as you fix yourself against the headboard. Why is he taking so long?

            “Go fast,” you say. Virus shakes his head.

            “Ah, I’d really like to make sure that you’re okay,” he tells you, his middle finger slipping in up to the second knuckle and then stopping. “We’d like to go slow. Make sure we don’t hurt you.”

            This can’t be good. Virus and Trip don’t want to hurt you? Actually, when you think about it, they’ve never _really_ said they wanted to hurt you. They’ve never really done anything you told them not to or didn’t want to do. Maybe Virus and Trip are sweet and romantic and could fall in love with you, if it weren’t for that damnable Mizuki boy you keep seeing on the side.

            You clench up when the tips of his two slender fingers tickle inside of you. His middle finger is so long that it’s brushes against your prostate. This is sort of like when Mizuki was going so slow fingering you open that you thought you might come too soon, but there’s something far more sinister about Virus and Trip.

            “Relax,” Trip fusses from the side of the bed. When you turn to look at him, you notice that he’s naked save for his pink briefs, and you take a breath as you admire his massive body. You’ll never look like that. Neither will Mizuki, or even Virus – Koujaku is the closest you can come up with, until you remember Mink. Mink, the gigantic criminal Aoba ran away with to who knows where. Running away with a criminal. You wonder what that’s like.

            “I’m fine,” you tell Trip. He hardly reacts.

            “Relax,” he repeats. Virus’s fingers pull back and then push forward again; then they pull back and push forward and pull back and push forward and oh fuck he is finger-fucking you and you absolutely cannot relax.

            “Come on,” you mutter, refusing to meet Virus’s eyes. You can’t think of anything else to say so you simply scowl as you bite back moans.

            “Your ass is so lewd, Noiz-san,” he says, and the honesty of his statement shocks you into accidentally letting out a throaty groan. “Only a few seconds ago, you were very tight. Now my fingers slide right in and out.”

            “Seconds?” you gasp. “You’ve had your fingers inside me the past fifteen minutes.”

            “Ah,” he sighs. “Then would you like a third?”

            You groan again in frustration. You’d _like_ him to get it over with and fuck you. You’d also like to be more open than this before he puts his dick in. You throw your head back against the pillow and glare at the ceiling.

            “I’ll help,” Trip says, and then his body lunges toward you, holding your stomach down – needlessly – before his fingers are on your dick, digging deep into your skin. Your back arches instinctually into his harsh grip and you moan in surprise. It’s good. It feels good. You pull against the cuffs that lock you to the headboard as your entire body tries to hump into what’s happening to you; your ass onto Virus’s fingers and your cock up into Trip’s hand. That’s when you realize they’re gentler than usual, not so gentle you can’t feel it, but almost like Mizuki, who presses into your skin until you react and then stops. They’re rough because they need to be, but they’re not hurting you. Not this time.

            “How does this feel, Noiz-san?” Virus asks. You suck in a breath and your stomach flattens. It feels good. You don’t want to admit that though. You wish you were gagged.

            “Want to gag me?”

            “No,” Virus shakes his head. “How does this feel?”

            You groan.

            “Fine,” you say, tilting your head back and bowing into it again. You actually might come soon if they keep it up. You’re not sure if you should though, not with your hands tied up, completely at their mercy. Otherwise, you’d come with no warning just to get off and then send them on their ways. You don’t think you could get away with that all tied up like this.

            “Just fine?” Trip asks. You shoot him a glare. You hate when he talks. He’s like a lump to you, a giant, yellow lump with red pubes, and you hate it when he makes a sound and reminds you that he’s not just some rock who shows up places to make people feel awkward. You hate remembering that he has his own personality. You hate remembering that he’s just as terrifying as Virus. You hate Trip.

            “I’m close,” you mumble, against your better judgment. Virus’s face lights up.

            “Ah, good!” he encourages, taking his fingers out and applying even more lube. “Maybe we should do three fingers, then.”

            “Maybe we should,” you grunt, and he lets you adjust as he puts three fingers in, but by the time he manages to reach the knuckle, Trip has had his nails scratching down your dick so pleasurably that you’re _positive_ you’re about to come. Your body tenses up and you bite your bottom lip hard. You pull against the headboard again and lift your head up, eyes closed –

            And then there’s nothing. Virus’s fingers are gone and Trip’s hand is missing and when you open your eyes, they’re both standing at the foot of the bed, disrobing.

            “What the fuck are you doing?” you breathe. “Keep going.”

            “Ah, we didn’t want you to waste your orgasm too soon,” Virus says. You’re fucking bewildered, because didn’t you just fucking tell them you were close? And he stuck in a third finger anyway? Wasn’t he trying to massage your fucking prostate? You want to open your mouth to protest but your body feels so fucking strange. It’s hard enough to feel anything in the first place. It takes a ton of energy to give yourself to sexual pain in order to feel any sexual pleasure, and having it get taken away from you is not something you’ve experienced before.

            “But now you’re open,” Trip says suddenly, his enormous body rushing you as he crawls up the bed, completely naked, to hover above you. His face is inches from yours and in all honesty, you’re a little frightened. He reaches down and lifts your thigh up to position his dick just at your entrance. “Open enough for me to fuck you. Let’s share an orgasm, instead.”

            Maybe if you kick them in the balls hard enough they won’t _want_ to orgasm.

            You’re annoyed, but your body quickly distracts you from being upset any longer, as Trip pushes in easily, if a little slowly. He starts to fuck you straightaway, and Virus watches from the foot of the bed still, as you lean your head back again and try to angle your hips to meet his dick at the right angle.

            “Noiz,” he says, cradling your head in one hand and staring down at you. “Does this feel good for you?”

            You furrow your brows. You know this line of questioning can’t be good, but you’re too desperate to worry about it anymore. You need to come.

            “Yes,” you nod. It’s a quiet answer, but a sincere one. Trip grins.

            “I want to hit you where it feels best.”

            Your breath is ragged as you stare at him. He – does? You lick your lips. You’re not sure you trust him. Well, that’s an understatement, but you’re not sure why he’d lie about it, seeing as you’re sure as fuck not able to stop him from doing whatever he wants anyway. You look into his eyes.

            “Here,” you say quietly, shifting your hips. You curl your feet around his waist and prop them up against his muscles. He smiles at you. And then he thrusts in again, harsh and fast, and you can’t help but cry out. He fucks you upward, your head craning back, forcing you to stare at the ceiling. Virus chuckles.

            “You must feel very good, Noiz-san,” he says. “You both look good from this angle.”

            He says some other bullshit you don’t care about because Trip is finally brushing against your prostate, and your eyes are rolling into the back of your head. You can hear the inhuman sounds coming from your throat but he really is fucking the breath out of you and you can’t really help it. He sounds like he’s having a good time too, the way Trip does when he fucks you: his breath low, as if he’s pushing it out as hard as he can from the top of his throat. He closes his eyes and bears his teeth. You grip his hips tighter between your thighs.

            “Are you –?”

            You nod. You try to, at least, because it’s hard to when your head is already all the way back. This is weirdly comforting. It’s like having sex with someone… who isn’t Virus or Trip. Normal. Like having sex with someone normal.

            It’s sort of like having sex with Mizuki.

            The thought of Mizuki biting your ear and calling you a good boy sends you to the edge. You tighten around –

            Nothing. Trip’s pulled out.

            There’s nothing ramming into you. Nothing rubbing against your prostate. Nothing fingering your dick.

            That intense feeling of unease washes over you again – you can’t imagine what this might feel like in its entirety, because even with your dulled sense, it’s Hell. You pick your head up.

            “What the fuck?” you breathe. You sound haggard and worn. You are. You’re exhausted from the teasing. You just need to get off.

            “Sorry,” Trip shrugs, jerking himself off. “Condom fell off.”

            “No it fucking – ”

            Trip’s hand is around your mouth before you can get the words out, and his dick is back inside your ass before you can register it. He starts to fuck you again, just as hard as before, but you already lost the edge and thinking about Mizuki now only makes you want to tear up, rather than come all over yourself. Of course, a few minutes later, just when you think you can concentrate hard enough to come finally and end this horrible thing, Trip cuts you off by coming inside of you (inside of the condom inside of you, but still). He pauses, quits thrusting, and you can just barely tell that his cock is pulsating inside of you as he comes, and you beg him to keep fucking you while he does, but he refuses.

            He pulls out slowly, looking down at his own cock the whole time. Then he looks you in the eyes with a grin that hints at an underbite you never noticed.

            “Wait for Virus.”

            That’s it. That’s all he says. He removes himself from the bed slowly, rolling the used condom off his dick as Virus takes his place. You can’t take this again. You’re going to cry.

            “Please just let me come.”

            “Of course,” Virus says, grabbing your knees and spreading your legs again. He lifts them up and rests your calves over his shoulders. “Maybe we’ll come together.”

            “Yeah?”

            You nod questioningly and your voice is high and breathy. You’re frantic.

            “Yeah.”

            You fucking doubt it.

            They’re teasing you. They’re fucking with you – they’re edging you. This is orgasm denial. That’s what this is. That’s what they’re doing. Only you didn’t put this on your list of approved actions. You might put this on your list with Mizuki – you’d put anything short of _‘leave me forever and tell me that you hate me’_ on your list with Mizuki – but you would _never_ ask Virus and Trip to do this to you.

            That’s not to say you hate it. A part of you loves it. A part of you still feels grateful that they do what needs to be done, which is take out the trash. They’ll still make sure you know your place.

            Maybe. Maybe you deserve this. Maybe you don’t. You _don’t fucking know anymore._ Virus pushes into you and you realize that you’re shaking.

            And he doesn’t let you come.

            Virus doesn’t let you come, he just fucks you until you’re close and then stops, wiggles his hips a bit while he’s still inside of you, and waits until your orgasm has passed to keep going. He does it twice. And it looks like he’s trying to hold his own climax in, just to keep you going. Just to deny you for longer. You are shivering. You think you might actually be cold.

            You beg him to let you come, but he simply smiles at you from over his frames.

            “You can come whenever you want to,” he says. “I’m not stopping you.” He’s not. He’s not stopping you. But you can’t do it. You can’t reach that point because he isn’t _letting_ you and when you hear your teeth start to chatter, he dips down and whispers into your ear, “Maybe you’re not coming because deep down, you know you don’t deserve to.”

            You blink hard. You know that when your eyes open, you’re staring up at him like a child, wide-eyed and confused and scared. You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve anything.

            You shake harder. You’re not sure why. You don’t think you’re cold. Maybe it’s just the nerves and the sexual frustration and oh – you suddenly hear a patter of rainfall against your window but still, it’s not like you’re outside so why would you be cold now? Well, whatever. This is fine. This is all fine. Virus is pulling out and his condom is just as messy as Trip’s and when he unties your hands, your pull his head towards yours passionately and kiss him – you kiss him like you would Mizuki. You kiss him hard and soft at the same time, desperate but convinced that he’s going to give you what you want now that you’ve acquiesced to them. But he pulls away and smiles and lifts a finger to your lips, brushing them with his pointer and you caress it with your lips, hoping that he’s not going to start getting dressed again.

            “You’re a good boy, Noiz-san,” he tells you as he reaches for his shirt. No. No no no no no no – “But perhaps, if you truly think you deserve to feel good, you should ask someone else for it. Someone who thinks you deserve that, too.”

            You’re up on your knees and you’re pulling at them – their limbs, their clothes, their hair, anything that will make them pause a moment and look at you. But they’re dressing quickly and you’re sort of lost to it all, half wondering if this is all a sick joke and you’ll manage to convince them to make you come and half considering calling Mizuki to come over. It would be the first time he’d come to your apartment. You’d had to clean up a bit. Not much. But there are some dishes out in the sink. And you’d need to make sure any trace of Virus and Trip are gone.

            Wait, now Virus and Trip are actually gone. They’re heading down your hallway and you’re chasing after them. Everything is sort of blurry because you’re a mess and you want to cry but your body is _on fire_ , you think. You can’t imagine that anyone has ever felt this full-force. You can’t stand this. _You can’t stand this._

            You don’t think much as you pull on your hoodie and jeans. You slip on your boots and that’s all you’re wearing when you start your brisk and manic walk in the rain to Mizuki’s. You can’t bring him to your place. You don’t want him to see the remnants of Virus and Trip. And even more, you don’t want him to see your cold and sterilized apartment. You don’t want him to realize just how barren you are. But you are. You’re barren and emotionless, and it all makes sense, because you _can’t feel anything and you never have._

            He’ll help you. _He’ll help you_. He’ll see you, wet and cold and shivering on his doorstep and his eyes will go wide like they always do, and he’ll pull you in and he’ll kiss you and he’ll say, “ _Who did this to you?”_ and you won’t answer but he’ll know – he’ll know – and he’ll threaten them under his breath, _“If you ever hurt the person I love again!”_ and then he’ll wrap you in a blanket and you’ll sit on his couch. You’ll eat noodles and watch a movie and hug his cats until you finally cry on his shoulder and he’ll hold you. He’ll let you. He’s always let you. He’ll help you. He loves you.

            And you don’t deserve it.

            And you realize now, you don’t care.

            You don’t care what you do or don’t deserve. Your last remaining shred of humanity is gone. Fucked away, by Virus and Trip. You want Mizuki. And you don’t care if you deserve him or not. If he’s stupid enough to take you to a field to look at the stars; if he’s stupid enough to take you on three dates; if he’s stupid enough to talk to you about sex for half an hour before fucking you, then he’s stupid enough be stuck with you. You’re his. Whether he likes it or not, you are his.

            When you knock on the door, your hair is so wet that it’s dripping into your eyes. It’s obscuring your vision so much that you can hardly make him out when he opens the door. Wait. Seeing him now suddenly makes you question all the decisions you just made. Why did you come here?

            “Noiz, what the hell?”

            There it is, the wide-eyed shock and confusion. Just like you expected. You have never known someone this well in your entire life. You grab the shoulders of his t-shirt so tight that you accidentally force him backwards into his apartment.

            “Please make me come.”

            “ _What_?” he shouts. “What’s wrong?”

            “P-please,” you stutter through chattering teeth. “I need to come. _Please_ , I can’t-t hold on any longer.”

            “What happened to you?”

            “Please,” you say again. “C’mon, I’m begging you to make me come. Doesn’t that t-turn you on?”

            “ _No,_ not like this! Come here,” he says, pulling you inside and shutting the door. He throws an arm around your shoulders and starts to walk you down the hall. You’re embarrassed. You’re soaking wet and on fire and humiliated. _Why did you come here?_

“Are we going to the bedroom?”

            “No,” he says firmly. “We’re going to the bathroom. You’re fucking trembling. You need to get your body temperature down, even if you can’t feel it.”

            “We’re taking a bath?”

            “ _You’re_ taking a bath.”

            “Join me.”

            “No,” he says, pointing at the bathroom door. “This isn’t a sexy bath. This is a bath to get you healthy again. Come on.”

            Something stirs inside of you at those words. This isn’t a sexy bath. This is a bath to get you healthy again. Mizuki doesn’t want to take a sexy bath with you. Because Mizuki is more concerned that you be healthy than he get off. But he doesn’t seem to understand that _you_ getting off right now would radically improve your health.

            Still. It’s familiar. It’s almost like you were in a trance and Mizuki just snapped you out of it.

            “F-fine,” you say, turning on the light and watching Mizuki as he fusses with the water and the stopper.

            “Take off your clothes while I get you a towel. You’re fucking trembling.”

            He already said that. He leaves the room in a rush, so frantic that you’re unwell that you can’t believe you did this to him. You showed up, practically drunk at his doorstep, and asked him to fuck you.

            This is why you don’t deserve him.

            It’s all so clear now that you’re naked and in Mizuki’s tub, but your dick still wants attention. And every time you remember that – you’re naked and in Mizuki’s tub – it jerks a little bit. Mizuki is sitting on the lidded toilet next to you, his head in his hands, staring at the floor. You have your knees curled up to your chin as you stare at the water, your previous fervent, sexual energy now taking a backseat to your deep, flaming humiliation.

            Mizuki looks – upset. Maybe annoyed. And confused. And definitely as though he’s thinking. Hard. You have to say something. You’ve never been more turned on _and_ less turned on in your entire life. You want him to touch you. But you’re scared to ever speak to him again. You can’t tell if he’s angry with you or if he’s trying to figure out what to do next. You suppose at this point the best thing you could do is help him out. You let go of your knees and grip the side of his tub.

            “Mizuki, I’m…” You trail off for a moment. He doesn’t budge. “I’m sorry.”

            The water is clear and his tub is old and cracked. It’s porcelain though, so it’s not dirty like acrylic. He offered you some bubble bath but you said no. You didn’t really understand the point. Your body is still shaking the slightest bit. That’s probably not because you’re cold though. That’s probably the sexual nerves.

            “What happened to you?” he asks. You really don’t want to answer that. You shrug, and he shakes his head. He sits up on the toilet and he lifts a foot up to prop against the tub, just next to your hand. He stares you right in the eyes as he says, “That’s not good enough. You have to tell me what happened. What’s wrong?”

            “It’s nothing –”

            “ _No_ ,” he practically bellows. “What _happened?”_

You swallow. He sounds just like your –

            “Virus and Trip,” you say so quietly that you can hardly hear yourself. You want to hug Emmerich right now.

            “What did they do?”

            “They wouldn’t – let me – they came over and wouldn’t…”

            You don’t want to say it. You don’t think you have to, really.

            “How often do you see them?”

            More often than Mizuki would like, you’re sure. And more often than you want to let him know. You shift uncomfortably, but keep eye contact with him.

            “Every now and then.”

            “Like, every week?”

            You close your mouth and his eyes are so fucking dangerous. You nod.

            “I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

            He rubs his face with his hands and then cards them through his hair. He sits up again, bringing his foot back to the floor, and turns to stare out the door for a second. Then he sighs again and stands up, his sweatpants dipping low and t-shirt riding up as he stretches his arms above his head and eventually moves himself to sit on the edge of the tub next to you. He shakes his head at you.

            “It’s okay,” he says. “It only upset me because I was scared. I don’t want you to be hurt. And I haven’t been really scared in a long time.”

            You exhale. He has nightmares so bad that he wakes up crying and calling his friends, but he hasn’t been _really scared_ until you showed up soaking wet and horny at his door. You grab his hand.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “It’s okay.”

            “I’m just – please, Mizuki,” you say. “Please help me. I want to come so bad.”

            He laughs at you, but not like he’s amused or entertained or even charmed, like usual. It’s sort of grim and dark, like he’s about to do something fun even though he really doesn’t want to do it. You squeeze his hand. You think he squeezes yours back.

            “You want me to make you come?”

            You perk up. You weren’t really expecting him to go for it.

            “ _Yes,”_ you breathe, pulling yourself up in the bath and trying to kiss him.

            “So what happened?” he says. “Virus and Trip come over and you guys fuck and then they don’t even let you come?”

            “They said I didn’t deserve it,” you say accidentally. You’re rambling. You’ll say anything. You’ll say anything to come, but you’ll also simply say anything to Mizuki. You love Mizuki. “And I probably don’t.”

            “You don’t deserve to come?” Mizuki asks. “So what makes you think I’ll do it, then?”

            You gasp. There are nails on your dick. Mizuki’s hand is under the water, gripping the base of your cock as tight as he can, his three outer fingers grazing against the underside of your balls.

            “Please,” you beg. It’s all you can say. “Please?”

            “That’s a good start,” Mizuki says forebodingly, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen this Mizuki before. Maybe a little bit, that night he went dark while talking about his childhood, but the tone he puts on when he’s fucking you or tying you up or slapping your ass is far more playful than this. Mizuki is serious right now. “Why don’t you keep going?”

            “Please,” you moan gutturally, your head falling into his chest as he jerks you off with one hand and supports your back with the other. This is the fastest he’s ever gotten this rough, and thank fuck for that because right now you need it more than ever. When you lift your head, you see him glaring down at you and it makes your cock jump all the more in his hand. You can’t think of anything else to say.

            “You like this?” he asks, but it’s not a sexy question. He’s not dirty talking. He’s serious. “Do you like this? Is this what you wanted when you came over here?”

            “Uh huh,” you whine, nodding and squinting up at him. “I’m close.”

            “ _Already?”_ he asks. “They really fucked you that good?” You’re about to burst. Mizuki talking like that really gets you going. “Are they more satisfying than me?”

            “ _No_!” you shout, reaching up and grabbing his shirt again. He wastes no time crashing down into the bath with you, still fully clothed, and straddling your waist. He leans you against the bathroom wall and methodically pulls every piercing on the way up and down your shaft, paying extra attention to digging his nails in just under the head and just under your sac, the most sensitive spots he knows. “I want _you_.”

            “Then why didn’t you _come to me?”_

            “I didn’t – I don’t –”

            “If you’re not interested in this anymore, you can just tell me,” he says. Everything makes you want to cry. That’s not it at all. “You don’t have to string me along. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

            “That’s not it,” you try to say through pleasured groans. “I love you.”

            Mizuki stops for a moment and lifts his head to stare you dead in the eye.

            “That _is_ what you said, isn’t? Just about a month ago, you said that, didn’t you?” he asks, his nails scraping down your dick again. “You said you loved me. Because I said it first. You didn’t _have_ to say it back. You know, I love you no matter what. You don’t have to _fuck_ me for me to love you. I love _Koujaku_ too, but I don’t want to jerk him off in the bath.”

            “I know,” you say, though it’s hard to do much but listen to him at this point – and it’s hard to even do that. “I meant it.”

            “I hope you did,” he says. “Because I meant it, too. But there’s a difference between love and – desperation.”

            “You said you didn’t want to be my boyfriend,” you blurt out. You don’t quite understand what he’s saying; it sounds like he’s accusing you of something and you just want to be heard. “You said I was free to fuck other people.”

            “Of course,” he says, the water splashing around you both so violently now that it’s starting to get in your eyes. “But I didn’t want other people to fuck with _you_.”

            “What does that mean?”

            “It means have sex with whoever you want,” he says. “But don’t let other people fuck with your head. I love you. I don’t know what they’ve been trying to drill into your head but I fucking love you, you fucking asshole piece of shit.”

            He closes the space between your mouths so fervently that you can only return his impassioned kiss with one of your own, grabbing the back of his head in the process. His breath is harsh and loud around you, streaming out his nose and you both kiss harder than you ever have, Mizuki embracing you in his entire body. He keeps kissing you almost angrily as you come between your bodies, curling into Mizuki and bracing him as he hugs you back. He jerks you off even harder as you convulse into his hand, and you know this isn’t sexy. It wasn’t exactly sexy from the start though, simply necessary. Your lips remain locked together as you feel the fire of the orgasm dissipating already. It feels so good but also so – you can’t describe it. You wanted it so bad that it was more of a chore to get through than it was great to feel it – but a wet Mizuki is still above you and –

            He looks spent. Even more spent than you are. He’s staring at your chest blankly, his mouth open slightly and his eyes wide. Fuck. He’s upset. You’ve upset him. He looks completely gone, shocked beyond belief. You don’t know why. He’s perfect. You hate what you’ve done to him.

            It’s quiet because neither of you know what to say. And it’s awkward because it’s so quiet, and because Mizuki obviously seems to regret what’s just happened. Your heart starts to race. You wonder if you forced him into this. You begged him, to be sure, but if he’d said no, you would have accepted it. You sort of _expected_ it. You certainly deserved it.

            He lets go of your dick finally and pulls away, letting you fall gently against the back of the tub again. He still looks stunned speechless, even as he starts to back off, pull himself up, and drip down into the tub as he stands above you, still unable to meet your eyes with his own. Your semen floats on the top of the water and you frown at it. You never realized semen floats. That’s interesting.

            “Let me go get us both clothes,” Mizuki says suddenly. You snap your head up to him and he’s staring down at the water. He starts to disrobe right in front of you, peeling his wet sweatpants down and his soaked t-shirt up, gathering them in his hands and stepping out of the tub to put them on the sink. He grabs the towel that’s hanging above the toilet and dries himself off before leaving, and you’re left alone. Just you and your floating semen.

            It’s easier to catch your breath now that you’ve come. It’s easier to lean back and think about the situation now that your brain isn’t addled by sexual fervor and inadequacy. It’s easier to realize just how badly you’ve fucked up, but for some reason you’re not _too_ anxious about it – probably because Mizuki has always forgiven you. Mizuki has always listened to you. You hope he still has the patience.

            You don’t think you want to see Virus and Trip anymore.

            You think you’d like to tell Mizuki that.

            He reappears in the bathroom in a pair of shorts and a hoodie, and he places neatly folded sweatpants and a t-shirt on the seat of the toilet for you. Then he turns and takes a deep breath.

            “Are you okay?”

            You stare at him.

            “I’m good. Are you okay?”

            “Of course,” he says. He isn’t smiling, but he isn’t angry. “You can stay in as long as you want.”

            “I think I’m done,” you say. He nods.

            “I’m going to put our wet clothes in the wash. You can stay the night if you want to.”

            You grip the side of the tub again.

            “Really?”

            “Of course.”

            He finally meets your eyes and gives you a small smile. Then he turns and leaves again, leaving you to get out and dry off and re-dress as slowly as you can. You wonder if he’ll let you return the favor. It’s hard to read the situation. You felt bad, but he doesn’t seem as upset as he was.

            He orders a pizza – with peppers – and he puts it in between you on the couch. You put on a movie but mostly stare at each other and smile awkwardly, like you’re two teenagers on a first date and neither want to make the first move. Except you’re not teenagers, you’re both in your twenties and he just jerked you off in the bathtub. Not to mention he’s tied you up and sucked your dick more times than you can remember. You feed a piece of sausage to a cat and he reprimands you, and then does it himself four minutes later.

            You lay on the floor as he reads you a message Koujaku sent him three days ago about a girl he’d met, who’d asked if he’d like to get tied up by her and you almost spit out your drink. Mizuki does the best Koujaku impression, all silky-voiced and smooth and handsome and you thank fuck that Mizuki sounds nothing like that. Mizuki reads aloud that Koujaku has done plenty of bondage before and you say you don’t believe that, but Mizuki shakes his head and tells you that he’s definitely done it, he’s pretty into it in fact, and you ask how the fuck he knows that. _“We’ve been best friends for years and he has a big mouth_ ,” he says as if you’re stupid, and you laugh. He does. Koujaku does have an enormous mouth.

            The buzzer goes off on the dryer and Mizuki runs to get your clothes before they wrinkle. He folds them up in front of you and hands them to you without a word. You take them and put them on the floor next to you awkwardly.

            “Is it still okay if I stay the night?”

            “Of course,” he says. “I just wanted you to have them.”

            You nod.

            “Do you – want to go to bed?” you ask. “We don’t have to sleep.”

            Mizuki laughs lightly.

            “Sure,” he says. “We could just talk in bed as well as we’re talking out here.”

            That’s not what you meant, but something tells you he’s aware of that. You don’t say anything as he rises from the couch and holds his hand out to you, helping you up off the living room floor and leading you down the hallway to his bedroom.

            He’s walking slowly, _so_ slowly that you know something’s wrong. You’re a step or two behind him and he’s studying the floor. He’s thinking. Not just thinking – figuring something out. He wants to say something and he has to figure it out. You can tell, because he puts his thumb and forefinger to his bottom lip and squeezes it outward. That’s his biggest tell. When he’s absent-minded, when he’s preoccupied, he plays with his lips. It’s infuriating because it makes _you_ want to play with them, too.

            “Hey,” you say, grabbing his hips and turning him to face you. Maybe you should try to take some control of the situation. Let him know you’re not still vulnerable. “Why don’t you let me –?”

            He lifts his head up abruptly.

            “I don’t want you to see Virus and Trip anymore.”

            You stop. You raise your eyebrows. You try to digest what he’s just said.

            “You… what?”

            “I don’t want you to hook up with Virus or Trip anymore,” he repeats. You nod your head up and watch him curiously. There’s only one reason why he’d want you to stop seeing them. You try not to smile.

            “You don’t?” you ask, reaching out to play with the hem of his shirt.

            “No,” he says firmly. “Look at what they’re doing to you. It’s not healthy. I mean, I don’t think they’re good for anyone, but they’re especially fucking with you and I don’t like it. I’m not forbidding it. I’m just telling you. I officially don’t think you should see them anymore.”

            Officially. He _officially_ doesn’t want you to see them anymore. He _officially_ gives a shit that you not have sex with other people. He _officially_ wants – to be monogamous? He _officially_ wants to be your boyfriend. He wants to make it _official._

            “Because… you don’t want me to sleep with other people?” you ask. He frowns.

            “No, I just said. Because I don’t think they’re good for you. I don’t think you should hang out with them.”

            “Because you want to be my boyfriend?”

            “No – well, I…” He runs a hand through his hair, which is confusing, because you’re not sure why else he’d care who you sleep with – other than the fact that he hates Virus and Trip. “I don’t – I still don’t know if I – can be your boyfriend. Right now. I _want_ to be your boyfriend. But not… right now.”

            “If you don’t want to be my boyfriend then why are you telling me not to see other people?”

            “I’m not,” he cocks his head to the side. “I’m telling you not to see _Virus and Trip_. They’re fucked up people, Noiz and they’re obviously trying to fuck with you. I didn’t want to say anything before because I was scared that I was being insecure about it and I didn’t want to try to control you. But you’re showing up to my place shivering in the rain and freezing cold and – you’ve changed _so_ much since the first day I talked to you, in the parlor in Black Needle. You would have never done that, though. It’s like – if Koujaku was seeing them, if they were doing this to Koujaku, I’d tell him the same thing. Why do you even – why do you even like to see them?”

            You square your shoulders to him confrontationally. Something about this sort of angers you. He thinks he gets to tell you _now_ that he doesn’t want you to sleep with other people? He wants to know _why_ you see Virus and Trip? He can’t already figure it out? He didn’t even give you a chance. He didn’t give you a chance to tell _him_ that you’d already decided not to see them anymore. Fine. You’ll tell him. You’ll tell him why you liked Virus and Trip so much.

            “Because they accept that I’m a fuckup. If I asked _you_ to fuck me up, you wouldn’t do that, would you?”

            He expels a tiny breath and furrows his brows.

            “Of course not, that’s – horrible.”

            “It’s not,” you mumble. “You’re just too perfect to do something like that.”

            “I’m _not_ perfect!” he shouts, grabbing at his hair with his hands and then splaying them out in front of him. He pulls away from your grip on his shirt and stares at you like you’re the dumbest person he’s ever met. “You _have_ to stop saying that! Calling me perfect is totally ignoring that it’s just – human decency _not_ to take advantage of vulnerable people.”

            “You think I’m vulnerable?”

            He sighs and lowers his hands, then looks away tiredly and shrugs his shoulders.

            “I think they’re good at pinpointing and exploiting weaknesses.”

            “So you think I’m stupid enough to fall for that shit?”

            “No,” he says quietly. “I think they’d do it to me too.” The room falls quiet for a few seconds as he readjusts in place and looks you down again. “Look, I love you, I don’t want you to get hurt, I hate them, I think they hurt people. So this is me, a friend who cares about you deeply, telling you, _my friend_ , that in my opinion, you shouldn’t be hanging out with them anymore. I’m actively asking that you don’t, because I care about this so much. Do you understand?”

            You furrow your brows and look away. No. You don’t understand, actually. _Actually_ , you’re definitely angry. He doesn’t want to control you – oh, except for this one thing. He wants you to sleep around – except for with the one person – well, people. He wants you to know he’s not insecure – but he won’t be your boyfriend.

            “Are you sure you’re not fucking with me as much as they are?” you ask, folding your arms and looking him in the eye. He pulls his head back in offense.

            “How the _fuck_ do you think I’m trying to mess with you?” he says, his voice low. “I just want you to be happy.”

            “I’d be happy if you were my boyfriend.”

            “I can’t just _be_ your boyfriend!” he shouts. “I can’t – _bribe_ you into not seeing Virus and Trip by saying I’ll be your boyfriend if you stop.”

            “It’s not a bribe –”

            “It _is_ ,” he seethes. “It _is,_ because what if something happens? What if we broke up? Then do you go back to Virus and Trip? Do I have to stay with you forever, no matter what, because if we break up, you _might_ start doing something to hurt yourself again? You need to stop seeing them for _yourself_ , not for _me.”_

You stare at him for a few seconds. Something in your mind feels like it’s about to click, but you can’t quite get there. You do things for the people you love. You love Mizuki and didn’t want him to get hurt, so you got tested, you had protected sex, you made sure Trip wasn’t going to beat him up the day he threatened to. Mizuki loves you, so he brought you inside and gave you a bath and a hand job and a place where you could actually cry and talk about your family and your condition.

            “People do things for the people they love,” you say quietly.

            “They don’t _manipulate_ them into staying with them!” he shouts back.

            “It’s not manipulation.”

            “Well, it’s not anything good,” he replies. You feel it start to get clearer. If you got to be Mizuki’s boyfriend, and then suddenly, for any reason, you had to _stop_ being Mizuki’s boyfriend, you’d probably do something far worse than Virus and Trip. You already know that, because the simple _idea_ of losing Mizuki makes you want to cry, and you don’t _have_ him right now.

            It clicks.

            Once again, you’ve almost hurt Mizuki without even knowing it, which is _exactly why_ you shouldn’t have ever gotten into this friendship in the first place. The self-hatred starts to fill you up again; you can feel your mind start to race with excuses that don’t fix anything and endless circles of logic that you can’t believe weren’t clear to you before. You want – something. You would have thought it would be Virus and Trip. That’s who usually fills these voids of self-hatred but now…

            You want someone else.

            “I’m going back to Germany.”

            You blurt it out. You don’t mean to. But it feels right once it’s left your mouth.

            Mizuki’s eyebrows raise and his mouth drops open. Then you see them – tears that spring automatically to his eyes and holy shit.

            You’ve only seen Mizuki cry once.

            You’ve made Mizuki cry.

            He blinks hard and then straightens his back. His once loud propensity for shouting vehemently at you is now reduced to a confused and frightened posture that is trying desperately to look confident. But he’s not confident. You’ve just said the one thing that could break him.

            You want Emmerich. Desperately.

            “You’re leaving?” he asks. You know full well that what he really wanted to ask was, _“You’re leaving_ me?”

            “Yeah,” you say. Your voice is hollow.

            “When?” he asks.

            “I don’t know,” you say honestly, then realize you need to sound certain. “Tomorrow.” That’s too certain. This is a mess. “I don’t know.”

            “Well,” he clears his throat. “I hope it’s not to see your parents.”

            “It’s not,” you say quickly. At least, you don’t think it is. He nods at you and then crosses his arms and looks away.

            “When were you going to tell me this?”

            You both know you hadn’t planned this. You both know it was a spur of the moment exclamation, something you said stupidly out of anger. But you’re a little stubborn – and a little serious.

            You really want Emmerich. You want him to reach under your door and cling to your fingers. You want to hug your baby brother.

            “I don’t know,” you say, staring at the floor. He doesn’t reply, so you conclude with, “I guess I should go home.”

            “Okay,” Mizuki says, reaching up to flick away a tear as quickly as possible. He didn’t want you to see, but you saw. “Can you let yourself out?”

            “Yeah,” you say, turning and heading out of his room before you even get the word out. Before you leave, however, you see out of the corner of your eye that Mizuki turns away sharply and covers his face with his hands. You’re at the front door before you hear a loud sob that makes your heart leap up your throat. You have to clench your teeth to keep from crying yourself.

            You leave your clothes in his living room. You’d rather have a t-shirt of his to keep anyway, and you hope he finds it romantic to keep something of yours, too. You’re not going to Germany. You’d like to. But you’re not going to, not like this. You’ll – call him tomorrow. This has been a fucked up night.

            You open his front door. Then you call over your shoulder, “I love you.”

            You leave before he has a chance to respond. If you shut him out, he can’t feel bad for not saying it back. You wanted to be the one to say it first this time. You wanted to give him the option not to respond.

            You’re sitting on your bed in Mizuki’s clothes and folding Emmerich’s number idly through your hands when you get the text back just thirty minutes later:

            _“I love you too. So much.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be a short tripjaku chapter, then chapter 25 will be the end of act 2. i may take a small break between 25 and continuing on with 26, especially if we end up moving which might be in the cards for us, so... yeah


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> koujaku ships mizunoiz

            (It’s not usually in Koujaku’s nature to go to bed early on a night that a girl is asking to come over, but feeling the bow of his bedframe as he sits on his mattress reminds him how comfortable his blankets are. Also, rubbing the marks on his wrists reminds him how wild she gets. He’s not sure he’s up for a round two already. He’s barely recovered from round one. Maybe Noiz is right. Maybe he is sort of vanilla. Whatever. He’s still probably having more sex than Noiz, anyway.

            There’s a part of Koujaku that remembers that isn’t necessarily a good thing; that just because he sleeps with more women – people, he corrects himself – doesn’t mean he’s better off, but he just can’t make himself believe that. It’s not even the deep-rooted anger that Noiz started dating his best friend. It’s that he really, truly, genuinely does not want to date anyone. He’s never felt bad for not having a steady partner – except, of course, the fact that if he ever _did_ have one, it would be Aoba, who’s all but legally married to Mink at this point. Koujaku has never felt an urge to be anyone else’s boyfriend. He’s not sure what that says about him. Maybe Aoba was the only one for him. Maybe Mizuki and Noiz are better off for each other than he is with _anyone_.

            He’d call himself a lost cause if he actually felt like one. The nice thing about not giving a rat’s ass about being in a relationship is that he doesn’t feel like a failure for not having one, like so many of his friends seems to. He knows he’s _supposed_ to want that, he just – doesn’t. He’s not opposed to Mizuki being Noiz’s boyfriend because he’s jealous of the relationship; he’s opposed to it because he’s simply annoyed that Mizuki is too tolerant for his own good and ended up with a shithead like Noiz. Still, at least he knows about Virus and Trip now. Mizuki had shown up at his place, pacing the kitchen and gripping the top of his chairs with a worried frown stitched onto his face. He’d told him that Noiz admitted to it, and Koujaku was only glad that he didn’t have to spill the beans himself. Mizuki was beyond upset, but not because Noiz wasn’t being faithful – that was the night Koujaku learned they weren’t exactly monogamous, which would have been a good thing to know _before_ he beat himself up about not letting Mizuki in on the Noiz-fucking-Virus-and-Trip thing. Why Noiz didn’t tell him that is beyond him, but Noiz is pretty fucking stupid so he’s not surprised.

            And the worst part of it all is that Mizuki really seems to love Noiz. And that means Koujaku has to admit to himself that there may be something redeemable about the little shit, though he’s still completely blind to what that might be. Mizuki has told him repeatedly that he loves them both, Noiz _and_ Koujaku, just in different ways, for which Koujaku is grateful in all honesty. He’s never considered dating Mizuki, and he’s not entirely sure they’d be as compatible sexually as they are platonically; if Mizuki is sexually compatible with _Noiz_ , then Koujaku assumes he’s into things he’d rather avoid in the bedroom. Still, Mizuki loves him. Mizuki loves him so much he ripped all of Ryuuhou’s designs down. Mizuki loves him so much he spent a month fixing their friendship when he could have just thrown it away. Mizuki loves him so much that he demanded Koujaku be nicer to Noiz – rather than just ignore him once he got into the relationship.

            Koujaku loves Mizuki so much that he might actually try.

            There’s a knock on the door and Koujaku rubs his wrist with a sigh. Ah… so she’s shown up anyway. He’s not entirely against letting her in. He might not mind a quick orgasm before bed. He could achieve that alone, though, he realizes as he trudges down the hall to the door. It’s raining, and he wasn’t expecting her to brave the weather just to have sex again, but she’s dedicated – and Koujaku sort of respects that in a woman. He grips the doorknob, resigned to another night of rough sex, but she’s not there.

            It’s gigantic, lumbering Trip, under a too-tiny-for-him mint green umbrella.

            Koujaku isn’t sure why he doesn’t immediately go into defense mode. He’s not certain why he doesn’t slam the door shut. There’s no reason why he doesn’t punch him, right here, square in the jaw. He only stands and stares, sickly curious as to what he’s doing here and what he wants.

            “What the hell are you doing here?”

            “Bored.” He takes his umbrella down and folds it in. He smiles at Koujaku and sighs, “Can I come in?”

            Koujaku isn’t sure why he lets Trip in.

            He leads him a bit into his entryway, but Trip lets himself right into his bedroom. Koujaku would object, but Trip’s been in his room already, so there isn’t much for him to discover. Plus, Koujaku is sort of fascinated by the rigid, machine-like manner in which he walks, as if his path has been pre-programmed into his brain. He reminds Koujaku of a child who knows exactly what he wants to explore and is going to investigate it. It’s morbidly endearing.

            “So what makes you think my place is going to cure your boredom?” Koujaku asks, standing in the doorway to his room as Trip stops in the middle, puts his hands in his pockets and looks around pointedly.

            “You’re the most interesting person I know right now,” he says dully. Koujaku frowns.

            “Oh yeah? Bored already of fucking with Noiz and Mizuki?”

            “Noiz?” Trip asks with amusement. “I just came from his place.”

            “You did?”

            “Sure,” he shrugs. “Been there a lot more than usual lately.”

            Koujaku isn’t sure why that would be. Mizuki _has_ been sort of quiet recently. Maybe they’re having problems and Mizuki – didn’t feel comfortable telling Koujaku. He winces. He hates thinking that he’s possibly been so terrible that Mizuki won’t even tell him when he’s upset anymore.

            “And now you’re sick of it?” Koujaku prompts. “Had too much, now you’re full and want something new?”

            “Not entirely. It’s still fun enough,” Trip says, finally turning to look Koujaku in the eye. “Virus, though. He’s still amused by it all. I think he’s trying to fill the hole that Aoba left.” Koujaku’s hands ball into fists instinctively. Trip’s eyes dart down to them and he smiles. “Suppose you still haven’t heard from him?”

            Koujaku recalls lying to him when he cut his hair, telling him Aoba never calls. Aoba does call. Aoba called a week ago. From Mink’s lap. It still hurt, but he’s getting used to it.

            “Suppose not,” Koujaku says, echoing Trip’s forced smile. “So this is all about Virus? Don’t want to do anything he doesn’t like, so you go along with everything he says, huh?”

            “Is that what you think?” Trip asks. “That Virus snaps his fingers and I obey?”

            “Isn’t it?” Koujaku scoffs. Trip’s grin grows wider.

            “If that’s what you want to think…” Trip trails off. “Then sure.”

            Koujaku doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s probably just bluffing. Koujaku knows first-hand how difficult and embarrassing it is to admit how in love you are with a person; how they could call and ask for anything and you’d give them it; how they could demand you to do anything and you’d – obey.

            “That’s how you and Mizuki are, after all, isn’t?” Trip asks suddenly and Koujaku’s head snaps to attention.

            “Mizuki –?”

            “Sure,” Trip nods. “You worry about him. Constantly. You’d do anything for him, it seems. Are you sure you’re not obeying his every order, too?”

            Koujaku can’t help it. Tears spring to his eyes. He’s in love with Mizuki – not _romantically_ , not the way he is (was?) in love with Aoba – but so desperately and so honestly, that it may as well be romantic. He doesn’t want to sleep with him. He doesn’t want to date him. But he wants to _be_ with him. Not physically, not like roommates or boyfriends or anything, but for the rest of his life. He wants to know that Mizuki will be in his life until the day he dies.

            “I don’t – follow… We don’t follow. Neither of us –”

            Koujaku isn’t sure what to say. Memories of times that he and Mizuki spent together flash through his mind: the night they were both hitting on the same girl at a bar without realizing it and ended up going home alone together instead; the lunches they’d eat in the back alleys with Aoba before he left; all the sparring matches they organized between Beni Shigure and Dry Juice; when Mizuki got beat so badly in a Rib match that Koujaku took him to the hospital and jiggled his foot in fear in the waiting room.

            “And what about Aoba?” Trip asks. Koujaku looks at him helplessly.

            “Aoba…”

            The first week after Aoba left, Mizuki didn’t leave his side for more than a shower and a shit. He’d only _just_ gotten out of the hospital, yet he came over the minute he found out Aoba got on the plane and let Koujaku cry to him every night, just to pretend it never happened in the morning. He didn’t force Koujaku to come out; he suspected, but he didn’t make him tell. Koujaku ended up telling. Mizuki wasn’t afraid to hold him all night.

            Koujaku hides his face in his sleeve and cowers against the wall. He’s only weepy; not sobbing outwardly, but he’s distressed. So distressed that he’s almost completely forgotten Trip was there, and in any case, he certainly doesn’t give a shit. Trip has already made up his mind about Koujaku. This isn’t going to make him vulnerable. This isn’t going to change anything. Crying in front of Trip – hardly concerns Koujaku anymore.

            He misses Aoba. Every day, he misses Aoba. Aoba is across the world with a man Koujaku will never know. But Mizuki is here, right now, just down the street. Mizuki is in Midorijima, every day, he sees Koujaku and has worked on his friendship with Koujaku so much that he can’t possibly want to give it up. Koujaku sees Mizuki every day, but he still misses him.

            “I miss him—”

            Koujaku’s breath is knocked out of him before he can complete his thought. Trip’s weight is against him, pinning him to the wall.

            “I have an idea.”

            Trip’s voice is rote and mundane in Koujaku’s ear before he spins him around and slams his back against the wall. Koujaku has no time to say anything before Trip is reaching into his sweatpants for his dick and pulling it out.

            “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” Koujaku growls.

            “What about this?” Trip asks. He wraps his fingers around Koujaku’s cock and strokes him slowly a few times. Koujaku sighs and puts his hands against the wall behind him. He wishes he could say he doesn’t want this – and he _doesn’t_ in some ways, but there’s some part of him that’s lonely and curious and confused and desperate that doesn’t mind this one bit. And right now, that part of him is winning out over the more sane and reasonable part.

            “W-why—?” he groans. The blond is impossible to read. Koujaku never realized Trip felt anything sexual toward him and he’d like to know why he would find this amusing _._

            Trip merely shrugs.

            “Just think it would be interesting.”

            Koujaku winces and groans as he stretches against the wall, hoping it seems like he’s trying to pull away. He wonders if Trip would stop even if he told him to. It’s really impossible to tell with him.

            Then Koujaku gasps when he feels warmth against his dick and he glances down to see that Trip has his own dick out now and is sliding it against his, gripping them both tight in one hand. There’s a term for this, but Koujaku forgets what it is. His mind is a little clouded at the moment, filled with Mizuki and Aoba and Noiz and Mink and _Trip_ and how bad he wants to get off and how much he misses everything, just everything he used to know and everything he used to love and everything that he was sure would never change –

            Koujaku’s bedroom is no stranger to being filled with sex noises, but these are sounds that this room have never heard before; low, punctuated grunts, the opposite of anything Koujaku thought he’d ever find erotic, but here he is, getting off to _Trip,_ who is manic and fervent with his hands. At one point he digs his nails in and just as Koujaku is about to object, he pulls back, almost like he did it on accident. Koujaku lets his head fall backwards against the wall as he grabs at the collar of Trip’s shirt and squeezes it tight. It’s sort of like he’s pushing him away. It’s sort of like he’s rejecting him. But not _really_.

            He closes his eyes tightly and lets the moans slip out the back of his throat. Maybe it’s all the emotions that are making him this horny, but Trip’s hand feels so good and he smells like sugar and when he bites his own bottom lip, Koujaku admits he’s pretty desirable, all big and muscular and commanding. Trip leans down and spits on his hand, then slicks up their dicks with it and Koujaku mewls desperately as his cock twitches at the sight. There’s something so lewd and enticing about both of their dicks pushing slowly and deliberately through Trip’s hand, like they’re both fucking it together and Koujaku doesn’t hold on for that long.

            He pulls Trip closer instead of pushing him away when he comes, accidentally running his lips dangerously close against Trip’s. He tips his forehead against Trip’s temple and moans against his mouth as he rocks into his hand to ride out his orgasm. He’s completely apathetic to how _romantic_ this all seems. Almost as romantic as he got with Noiz, which was also a complete accident. And Koujaku isn’t even all that romantic.

            Trip comes just a few minutes later, and it’s the most banal and unemotional orgasm Koujaku’s ever seen. He pulls away almost immediately. He somehow shamelessly trudges to the bedside table and grabs some tissues to clean himself up and then brings the box back to Koujaku, who takes it wordlessly and follows suit. How awkward. And quick. And bizarre. And –

            Fuck. If Koujaku hadn’t already had his massive breakdown about sleeping with Noiz – and then… the other guy – he might be more panicked about all this. But as it is, he’s felt this before. He’s felt this _so much_ before. Regrettable sex he shouldn’t have had, but wanted so badly in the moment. Regrettable sex that he wanted but he can’t remember why. It felt great, though. In the moment. Now it’s just – him and Trip again.

            Him. And Trip. And his invasive thoughts of abandonment and guilt.

            He misses Mizuki so much.

            “Hey,” he says, pushing himself off the wall and dropping the tissue on the floor. He’ll pick that up later. “Do something for me.”

            “I just did,” Trip asks with a smile. He drops his tissue in the trashcan. Asshole.

            “One more thing. Because I’m the most interesting person you know.”

            “Are you?”

            “Stop seeing Noiz.”

            Trip’s smile doesn’t waver. In fact, Koujaku swears it widens.

            “Stop seeing Noiz?” he asks, taking a step forward. Koujaku swallows. “What if I’m in love with him?”

            “What if – what?” Koujaku breathes. He can’t be serious.

            “He can’t feel anything,” Trip says with a shrug. “And I’ve always hurt everybody, whether I meant to or not. But you can’t hurt him. Wouldn’t it be funny? If he were my soul mate?”

            Koujaku straightens his neck to regard him cautiously. He never thought he’d feel threatened by the fact that Noiz might not end up with Mizuki; he never thought he’d so strongly defend them as a couple, but at this moment, Koujaku is positive they belong together. He can’t let Trip come between that.

            “I can tell that you have something decent about you, deep down,” Koujaku shakes his head slowly. He doesn’t want to say it all out loud but – Trip understands him. He _obviously_ understands him. They, unfortunately, have a bond. Koujaku wonders if his voice might implant itself into Trip’s subconscious. Maybe Trip will listen to him.

            “Can you?” Trip asks. Koujaku cocks his head helplessly.

            “I don’t know why he’s caught on your line, but I’m begging you. Please cut him off. Please.”

            Trip puts his hands in his pockets again and his smile doesn’t falter once as he walks out silently, to the hallway, and out the front door. Koujaku did it for Mizuki. Koujaku begged Trip to stop fucking with Noiz for Mizuki. Koujaku would do anything for Mizuki.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will be the end of act 2 and as i said before, i MAY be taking a very slight break to move (we'll find out later today probably)


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the day that Noiz will have to come to remember as the time he finally....

            You’re not going to Germany.

            You haven’t even been able to bring yourself to call Emmerich still, and Mizuki’s desperate, honest message from the night before (you can hear it, you can hear him say it, breathily, _“I love you too… so much…”)_ has you convinced you have to make things right with him immediately. You could call him up and apologize, ask to come over, talk to him like you did the time you tried to kiss him on his couch while he was drunk, and hope that it blows over. You could tell him that this is just your second fight of many, because you don’t plan to let him go that easily. He’d love that. He’d love to hear that you’re not going to leave him just like that.

            But then you think it might be better with some proof. Proof that you love him, that you understand what you did, that everything was wrong but you want to make it right. You want to tell him that you actually spoke to Virus and Trip, that you told them it was over, and you’re sure they won’t really give a fuck one way or another, so it’s not like the conversation would consist of much more than you telling them to fuck off and them doing exactly that. But it would be nice to be able to tell Mizuki that you took it seriously. So seriously that you told them to their faces that you were done with them; that their hurting you was hurting Mizuki and you do everything you can to avoid hurting Mizuki.

            So you call them. You tell them you need to talk to them, maybe for the last time ever, and that intrigues them, just as you suspected it would. They agree to meet you in public, on a street you’ve never been to, but is near the heart of the new city, so there will be plenty of people around. You hang up and head over.

            It’s near the busiest train station on the island and just across from the airport. It’s like they knew, somehow, that seeing an airport would weaken you. You’re meeting more on their turf than a neutral ground when you think about it; you don’t know Midorijima _that_ well, especially not the nicer bits that have been built up the past year, but their _job_ as yakuza is to patrol everything. They probably have insider knowledge and get-out-of-jail-free cards to almost everywhere, since they do manage to sneak around so easily. You’ll never understand how they were so good at keeping a low profile when they stick out like sore thumbs. Even Mizuki hadn’t seen them since the day they showed up while you were at the bar with him. You realize they were your little secret in more ways than one.

            You’re standing with your hands in your pockets and your back against a brick wall in an alcove out of the way of the busy sidewalks when they show up. They’re dressed more casually than you’ve ever seen them: jeans and sweatshirts and sneakers, Virus’s a pastel pink and Trip’s a light green. You frown as you realize that they look really good together, like they’re supposed to go with each other. They’re a pair. They’re complements to each other. You wonder if you’ll ever find your complement. You wonder if Mizuki will let you be his.

            Trip has a messenger bag slung across his chest. You wonder if he has a gun inside it. Maybe they’re finally going to murder you.

            “Hello, Noiz-san,” Virus says cheerfully and you suddenly realize what a waste of time this was. You don’t want them to fuck you. You were nervous that bringing them to your place once more might make you vulnerable and weak again, so you trekked all the way out here to tell them this one stupid thing and now you’re angry at them for it. You roll your eyes.

            “Whatever. Look. I have one thing to say to you and that’s it,” you say, kicking your foot off the wall and squaring your shoulders to confront them. Trip’s head lolls to the side and Virus nods at you.

            “And what would that be?”

            “This is done. It’s over. Look,” you say, taking the paper that Virus wrote his number on a month ago out of your pocket. You rip it up and drop it on the ground near their feet. Hopefully they realize that was more of a dramatic metaphor than it was the only thing you’ve done; obviously you deleted their number out of your Coil and phone, as well. “I’m done. I don’t want to see you two ever again.”

            Virus is staring at the shreds of paper near his shoes. Trip hasn’t moved at all. He’s still watching you, bored, with heavy-lidded eyes and his hands in his pockets, as if there’s somewhere else he’d rather be. Virus looks up at you with the same smile as always.

            “May I ask why?”

            “Because,” you shrug. “I’m just fucking done.” Because you love Mizuki, because you finally know someone you don’t want to hurt, because you’re actually willing to change for someone for once in your life – there’s a whole list, but Virus doesn’t need to know that.

            “Because you’ve finally chosen Mizuki-san over us,” he says for you. You shake your head.

            “Whatever you want to tell yourself,” you tell him and you start to make your way between them. “I’m leaving. I just wanted to tell you face-to-face. I’m not calling you again. Leave me and Mizuki alone. I’m done.”

            “Well, I’m afraid we can’t just leave Mizuki alone,” Virus says, ramming his shoulder into yours to block you from leaving. “We can, of course, leave you two _alone_. But we can’t stop doing our job.”

            “What, patrolling Dry Juice? Fine, just don’t do it when we’re around.”

            Virus nods his head back and forth as if he’s actually considering it. Trip snickers and then backs himself up against the wall you were once standing against. He’s resigned this conversation to Virus, as usual.

            “We could do that,” Virus tells you. “But I suppose since you’ve already called us here to break up with us, it doesn’t really matter, does it? You’ve chosen Mizuki-san over us. How heartbreaking.”

            “I bet,” you scoff, slamming your shoulder into his in return and taking off down the sidewalk.

            “Oh, poor us,” Trip calls after you. “Noiz is done sleeping with us because he’d rather sleep with Mizuki instead. I guess I can’t blame him though, if Mizuki screams in bed half as good as he does when he’s...”

            He trails off. You freeze. You’re only a few steps down the sidewalk, and you consider continuing on. They’re bluffing. Trip is a fucking weird guy. He’s trying to scare you – but the thought of Virus and Trip making Mizuki scream fills you with such dread that you turn around and hurry back to them. You rush Trip against the wall until your face is just inches from his.

            “When he’s what?” you spit. You’re going to punch the shit-eating grin off his face.

            “When he’s handing over his own team to us.”

            When he’s – what?

            Trip reaches into the bag on his back. You actually back up, convinced he’s about to shoot you. But all he takes out is a pen. A simple, black pen. He hands it to you and you glare at him.

            “It’s complimentary when you join up,” he grins. “Mizuki might still have his.” You furrow your brows and look at the pen. It’s just a pen. Why would Mizuki have it? You look back up at him.

            “The fuck is this? Why would Mizuki have it? Complimentary when you join what?”

            Trip shrugs and rolls his eyes like you’re the stupidest man on earth.

            “Morphine.”

            Morphine. The Rib team that worked for Toue, that systematically took down other Rib teams, that ruined Mizuki’s life. You know Morphine. Was Trip –

            “You were in Morphine?”

            Trip grins wide at you but doesn’t respond. He nods at the pen and – that’s when you see it. There’s a little clip on the handle of the pen. You unclasp it and hold it up. You know this image. It’s on –

            Mizuki’s neck.

            This is the Morphine logo.

            This is a pin that Morphine members wore, probably forced upon them as some sick joke for “joining up” – better known as getting brainwashed and forced onto the team. This is a sick joke. This is a sick fucking joke. This is a _sick fucking joke –_

“Anyway,” Trip says. “We figured you were planning on dumping us today. So we’re going to take a long holiday to clear our heads. Good luck with your marriage.”

            You’re too distracted and dazed to reply. You keep staring at the pen. They’ve heard Mizuki scream.

            _It was them_.

            You turn to Virus, hoping he’ll give you some indication that this is all a sick fucking joke!

            But he’s gone.

            You turn back to Trip – and he’s gone too.

You rush around the corner and down the sidewalk, but you know it’s fruitless. They’re gone. They’ve fucking left. They’ve left you! That’s hilarious. They’ve left you, just like you left Mizuki and your heart is racing and you think you might sob, just like you made Mizuki sob. This is stunning; it all happened so quickly. You hardly spoke to them for two minute’s time and suddenly they’ve –

            There are people trying to get around you but you hardly register the crowd as you make your way back to the alley. What does it all mean? They were Morphine. They patrolled Dry Juice. It was them. It had to have been them. It was them. They did it. They’re a sick fucking joke; they kidnapped Mizuki, they brainwashed him, they broke him a thousand times over. They made him scream. They’ve heard him. They’ve heard him scream. You’ve heard him sob and they’re heard him scream. You’ve _made_ him sob and they’ve _made him scream –_

You lean against the wall and empty your stomach on the gravel. You think someone stops to ask if you’re alright but you tell them to fuck off and they do. Where will they go? You realize it hardly matters. They’re probably going to fuck off to some other country, but even if they stay in Midorijima, it would hardly matter. Toue is dead and so is Morphine; they can’t really do much else, it’s only a matter of what they’ve already done. Surely no one would cry foul if Dry Juice fucking murdered them, but they’d likely never get in any legal troublefor anything – you have no proof. A part of you wants to say they’re lying – there’s no evidence! So Trip has a Morphine pin? Trip is a weird fucking guy, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’d think lying about this was hilarious. You _haven’t_ been sleeping with the people who destroyed Mizuki’s life; there’s no proof!

            But somehow you know it’s true. Virus wouldn’t lie about this, and deep down you know Trip wouldn’t either. You study the pin again harshly, as if you’ve made a mistake. You haven’t. It’s Morphine. You realize how often you actually see that logo, behind the black bars on Mizuki’s neck, though you’ve hardly ever given it any thought. Mizuki likes to pull his hood up and draw the strings in so tight that his throat is covered by the sweatshirt, which you always thought was a hilarious joke, but you’ve suddenly realized exactly why he does it.

            You throw up again and try to calm yourself down. You fall down to your knees and pull out your Coil. Do you call him? You can’t call him. You can’t call Mizuki like this, shaking and crying, just like last night, and tell him that you’ve just seen Virus and Trip and need to come talk to him now. You can’t do that. But you have to call someone.

            Your voice is shaky when Koujaku picks up.

            Your voice is shaky when you tell Koujaku that it was all Virus and Trip.

            Your voice is shaky when you beg him not to blame you and he tells you to calm down and are you sure they weren’t just fucking with you?

            Your voice is solid when you tell him they weren’t lying. Your voice is strong when you assure him this is real. Your voice is heavy when you ask him what to do.

            He asks you where they went, and you tell him they’re gone, they ran away, you lost them. He tells you he’s going to track them down and that you should go to Mizuki’s.

            He tells you to tell Mizuki everything.

            You ask if he’d rather do it and he says no, it should come from you. You’re the one they told, you’re the one who knew them best. Mizuki is going to want _you_ , not him.

            He says he trusts you. And then he hangs up.

            Koujaku is an alright guy. He was skeptical at first, but something seemed to click with him and he believed you very quickly. He didn’t need to do that. He had every right to discredit every word you’ve ever said. But he didn’t. What an alright guy.

            He’s not going to find them. He’s wasting his time. But you let him do what he wants, since it’s your fault you’re all in this mess anyway and you go to Mizuki’s. You spend the walk trying to shake it all out of your body because you don’t want to show up in the same state as the night before. You want to be cool and calm and collected and all in one fucking piece, not a shattered, fragile piece of glass.

            You can’t help it, though. The second Mizuki opens his door, you’re grabbing his shirt and pushing him backwards, just like the night before. He lets out a surprised gasp just before you kiss him, your lips soft against his and your hand snaking him into his hair. He lets you kiss him, but when you pull away, he frowns.

            “What are you doing?” he asks. He doesn’t seem angry or even upset. He seems tired, but not like you woke him up, more like he’s exhausted from all you’ve put him through and you hate yourself for that. You shake your head.

            “I have to tell you something,” you tell him. “It’s not good. And I don’t know how you’ll react.”

            He hardly seems to care. He blinks at you slowly and pulls away from your grip. He sits down on the small stool next to his entryway table and rubs his face with his hands.

            “Are you going to Germany or not?” he asks.

            You freeze.

            You hadn’t thought about Germany until just now, but it sounds like he almost _wants_ you to go. That makes you want to go, too. Then again, you’re suddenly unsure if Emmerich would even have you now. You don’t know if anyone will ever have you again. You let out a long breath.

            “This isn’t about Germany,” you say, your voice lower than you mean for it to be. He looks at you with a knitted brow.

            “What’s it about, then?”

            You swallow the lump down your throat and realize how in need you are of some water. You don’t think you have the words to tell him. You’re hardly keeping it together as it is; all you want to do is bawl in his arms and have him hold you – actually, that sounds so good right now, not that you _deserve it._

“Uh,” you say, your breath forcing its way out again in a stilted cry. “It’s about—”

            That’s it. You can’t say it. That’s all that comes out of your mouth and you start to tear up.

            “Noiz,” he says harshly, though that hint of concern creeps into his tone. “Noiz, what happened? Why are you crying? Did you see them again?”

            You nod.

            He stands up and rushes toward you angrily, but when he reaches you he stops as if he’s not sure what to do. He glares at you for a moment from under his bangs and then pulls you against him by your hips. You moan. Fuck, you wish he would fuck you hard right now.

            “What did they do to you?”

            That’s when you break.

            You stare up at him tearfully.

            “Nothing,” you say, your voice wobbling. “They did something to you.”

            He doesn’t react at all until you reach up and gingerly brush your fingertips against his neck. His hand springs up and he latches onto your wrist so tight you can feel it. You wince and he pulls backwards as he throws your hand away and covers his throat protectively. He stares at you in confusion and you watch it all come together for him.

            You didn’t have to say it. You’ve never really touched his neck, never ran your hands along his throat; he knew exactly what you were saying when you did that. He knew it because deep down, he’s always known it, and now you get it, too. He didn’t hate Virus and Trip because they were yakuza. He didn’t hate them because they were strange. He didn’t hate them because you slept with them. He hated them because he still knew, deep in his mind, that they put these marks on his neck. They were the reason he was waking up screaming at night. They were who took advantage of his weakness. They were who exploited his past.

            Mizuki is strong. He’s not just the strongest person you’ve ever met; he’s also _just strong_. He’s survived Aoba’s Scrap and Morphine’s brainwashing, and even as he’s gotten to know you, even as he’s been moving past it, it’s always been in the back of his mind. His mind is so powerful that it’s held onto this information – but it’s also so powerful that it kept it from him. He’s so strong that he simultaneously remembered things he never should have been able to, and buried them so far back that they couldn’t hurt him anymore. And now he’s licking his lips and trying to take this all in. You watch him as he stares at the floor, his hands gripping his own throat. You run your hand through your hair. You bite your tongue. You pull on your ear piercings.

            And then you cry.

            It’s rote at this point, you crying – even Mizuki crying is a bit of a routine, and you hate yourself for it. You feel yourself reaching out for him like a child – like _yourself_ as a child. Your mother would set you down and walk away and you’d reach out and cry for her but she’d never come back. And neither will Mizuki.

            “I wanted to call you,” you say through the tears, “but I wanted to be able to tell you – something. Anything. I wanted to be able to tell you that I wasn’t just _not going to see them anymore_ , I wanted to be able to tell you that I told _them_ I wasn’t going to call them again. I wanted something to prove it.”

            “I don’t understand what you’re saying. How did this happen?” he asks, as if he hasn’t heard you. You panic.

            “I called Koujaku,” you tell him, wondering if that might calm him down. It doesn’t.

            “When did this happen?” he asks, his hand still holding his own throat as he turns sharply to stare at you. “When did they tell you? What did they tell you? I don’t understand.”

            “Just now,” you say, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand. “I wanted to have something to tell you so I called them –”

            “Why are you crying?!” he demands, leaning forward and shouting at you. You’re so taken off guard that you actually step backwards and stare at him.

            “What do you mean?” you ask, unable to keep the sobs from creeping into your voice.

            “Stop crying!” he shouts. “They did this to _me,_ not you!”

            You’re shocked. And his yelling doesn’t help at all; tears start coming so easily that you can’t just turn them off, no matter how angry Mizuki gets.

            “I’m just – so sorry that I did thi –”

            “For fuck’s sake, don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything, Noiz!” he yells.

“I know, but –”

“Virus and Trip did this! Morphine did this – fuck. Fuck me. This _is_ what you’re saying, right? That Virus and Trip – they’re Morphine? They’re the ones who – how do you know? What exactly did they tell you?”

            You have to gather yourself. Your eyes dart around the floor as you wipe the tears away again and try to sniff up all the snot in your nose. You reach into your pocket and take out the pin. You rub it against your fingers for a few seconds before you hand it over. Mizuki takes it gently and stares at it as if he’s expecting it to do something more.

            “Trip said – you sound good – when you – scream,” you say quietly. “And then he handed me that. And then he told me – it was Morphine. They were Morphine.”

            You cover your face and sob into your hands again. It was too much to say those words and now you’re not even sure you should have. Maybe he didn’t need to know that, about Trip hearing him scream, but you don’t know what else to do. You squat down and cry so hard that you forget to breathe. This is happening just as quickly as Trip’s shitty reveal did. Mizuki starts pacing the room like he’s crazed, like he doesn’t believe a word you’ve said or maybe he does and he’s about to go insane. A few moments pass before you’re able to gather your wits enough to try to speak:

            “It makes sense,” you say breathlessly, “it makes so much sense. You hate them more than you used to – that’s what you said in the bar that day. Part of you still sensed it.”

            “I know, I _know_ ,” Mizuki babbles. “I _know_ it’s true, stop trying to convince me.”

            You stare up at him and wipe your nose with your sleeve.

            “I just – ”

            He stops in front of you and drops to his knees. He pulls your face up and holds your cheeks in his hands.

            “Where are they?”

            “W-what?” you stammer, staring into his eyes. He’s _so_ beautiful.

            “Where are they, where did they go?” he asks, shaking your head in his hands. You stare at him dumbly. He thinks if you knew where they were you would be here and not out there, destroying them?

            “…They left, Mizuki. They ran. They weren’t going to stick around. It doesn’t matter where they went.”

            “Yes it does,” Mizuki mutters, dropping your face and standing up again. He turns away from you and pulls at his bottom lip with his fingers.

            “Why?” you ask tiredly, letting your head droop forward. He turns his head just enough for you to see his eyes.

            “Because I’m going to kill them.”

            You let your legs splay out in front of you in exhaustion. You can’t handle any more of this. You shake your head.

            “It doesn’t matter,” you say. “They’re gone. And the only people who will believe us won’t be able to do anything short of kill them themselves. I’m so sorry.”

            “ _Why_ are you sorry?” Mizuki says, whirling around and glaring at you.

            “I’m – because… they were the ones who hurt you. And I was – letting them fuck m – I was… I’m just so sorry that I hurt you.”

            “This isn’t _your fault_ , Noiz!” Mizuki shouts. It’s not comforting. It’s accusatory and you’re shocked. “Not everything is about you! You didn’t hurt me! Virus and Trip hurt me! Are you the one who met me behind the alley of my own fucking tattoo parlor and talked me into the worst decision of my life? Are you the one who abandoned me when I was born? Are you the one who gagged me and forced me to Oval Tower and then left me to die – no! You didn’t do anything of those things to me! You can’t just _fix_ me, Noiz!”

            He pauses.

            Your mouth hangs open.

            You’re speechless.

            “You can’t just take the romantic stuff and pretend nothing else exists! You can’t just pretend it’s romantic that we both have shit in our past! It’s not romantic! I’d give anything to have had a happy, normal life! I didn’t _want_ any of this!”

            You crawl backwards toward the front door and reach up for the handle. You can’t do anything else but stare like a child.

            “Well, I can’t fix you, Noiz. Because there’s nothing to _fix_. You’re not _broken_ just because people treated you poorly. You’re _Noiz_. And you had a terrible life and it wasn’t your fault and you never deserved it. But it’s what happened. You’re not strong despite the things people did to you. You’re you. You’re strong _because_ they happened. There’s nothing to fix about that.”

            You pull yourself up by the doorknob and gape at him, waiting to see if there’s more. You’re not sure you even really heard it all. You were too shocked to see Mizuki like this.

            “Maybe I’m wrong,” he says. “Maybe we’re all broken. Fine. Maybe we are. But I don’t think anyone is made _bad_ by the things that happened to them. You didn’t ask to be abused. You didn’t do anything to deserve it. You might feel like a victim, and I get it. I do too. But you’re not _bad_ now because of those things.”

            You try to breathe, but it gets caught in your throat and you sob outwardly. If you’re not bad then why do you feel like such a monster?

            “And you said I was perfect. But obviously I’m not. And you know what, no, I was wrong. You didn’t want to fix me. You just wanted me to fix _you_.”

            Mizuki hates you. He hates you. The only person who’s ever come to love you now hates you. And you don’t blame him one fucking bit.

            You suck up all your breath.

            “Should I go?” you ask weakly. You put your hand on the doorknob. You want to hug Emmerich.

            You don’t expect Mizuki to glare at you again.

            “Do whatever you want,” he spits. “But if you go, just _go_. For good.”

            Your chest aches.

            “What – what do you mean?”

            “ _Just leave!”_

            Mizuki screams so loud that it sucks the air out of you. He screams so loud that his voice cracks; squeaks like a chair that’s being pulled against the floor against its will. He screams so loud that the tears build up again and you push backwards against the door for protection. You don’t answer. You don’t know what Trip found so appealing about Mizuki’s screams. You don’t like them at all.

            “If you’re going to leave, then just _leave!”_ he cries. He’s angry, but he’s also trying to hold back tears. You can hear it in his voice. “Are you going to Germany?!”

            You shrug your shoulders just barely, and you can’t believe you even manage that. You want to. You want to go to Germany. Your most intense fantasy used to be Mizuki holding you after sex, but right now it’s Emmerich wrapping his arms around you while you cry into his shirt.

            “For _fuck’s sake_ Noiz, if you’re going to leave then just do it.”

            You finally find your voice.

            “You want me to leave?”

            “I don’t _care_!” he screams again. “But if you’re going to leave, then do it! I am so fucking _sick_ of watching the people I love _leave me_!” His voice starts to break. “If you’re going to do it then I’m not going to stop you! But I am so tired of _being left_!” He’s crying. “So _just leave me!”_

            You grip the door handle and you open the door. You step outside quickly and shut it behind you. You walk away and Mizuki doesn’t come out to stop you.

            You leave.

            You’re not sure what he did as you walked out the door. You’re not sure if he cried or yelled or turned away and sat down calmly and pet a cat. Maybe he really didn’t care at all. But you had to leave. Mizuki is so sick of the people he loves leaving him; you are so sick of hurting the person you love.

            Koujaku calls you but you’re on your way to your place already. You’re sort of on autopilot when he asks where the fuck you are. You tell him you’re going to your place, you’re leaving, and you’re going to Germany. He asks what the fuck you mean by that and you tell him that Mizuki needs him. Mizuki needs someone he loves and Mizuki loves him, Mizuki’s told you that a thousand times, and Koujaku gets a little quiet when you say it. You’re not sure why since it’s obviously no secret. You tell him that Mizuki is alone because you had to leave since you had to stop hurting him and you’re gone now, you’re back to Germany already, and Koujaku hangs up on you. That’s fair. Koujaku is a very fair person.

            You don’t think you’ve blinked since Mizuki started screaming as you empty your dresser into a bag. Underwear, hoodies, thigh-highs; you rip the buttons off your shirt and throw them on the floor. Security will already be enough of a nightmare. You don’t need a toothbrush or toothpaste or shampoo and everything is going so fast; you are a blur to yourself. The only other thing you need is the paper in your bedside table drawer.

            You make your way to the airport again. You wonder if your legs are getting tired from all this walking. You wouldn’t know. You have no sensation. You can’t feel anything. You’ve never been able to feel anything; it’s a condition you were born with. It caused you to hurt other people, because you simply didn’t understand. It meant you were a monster. You were born a monster. The only things you’ve ever been able to feel are your tongue, and the wind that chilled you the first and only time Mizuki ever screamed at you.

            The woman who sells you your ticket wears bright pink lipstick. Midorijima to Tokyo to Abu Dhabi to Berlin. Fine, whatever. You pay and breeze through security without so much as a dirty side glance from anyone. The flight isn’t for another three hours. You lick your lips as you stare out the window at the planes making their ways on and off the tarmac.

            It’s the first moment of clarity you’ve had since you first called Virus and Trip this morning.

            You’re at the airport. You have a ticket to Germany. You’re leaving.

            You hide away in a corner between a coffee shop and a bathroom. You take the paper out from your pocket. You don’t have a single thought as you dial the number on your Coil.

            It rings. You don’t feel a fucking thing.

            He rejects the video. But for the first time in almost seven years, you hear your little brothers voice.

            “Hello, who is this?”

            _Hello, who is this?_ Your baby brother’s first words. You haven’t heard German in so long. He sounds so grown up.

            You swallow back tears.

            “Emmerich,” you whisper. “It’s me.”

            “Me who?”

            He sounds busy. He sounds so mundane, like he’s just going about his day – because he is. He’s just having a normal day, without his big brother, he’s probably given up on you already. He thinks you’re a prank call or a coworker or someone fucking with him. You take a deep breath.

            “It’s Kristian.”

            You stare at the stain on the purple carpet. A few seconds pass. Then, gravely, he asks:

            “Who is this and how do you know that name?”

            You perk up.

            “Video call me Emmerich, it’s me.”

            “This is not fucking funny,” he says. This is your little brother. You’ve never heard his adult voice. You don’t know what he looks like. You have a photo of him in a box under your bed, but he was probably eleven or so in it. You wonder what he looks like at eighteen.

            “I know it’s not,” you tell him. “It’s me, it’s Kristian. Video call me.”

            He hangs up.

            You sigh deeply and sit back against the wall. He’s going to have to pick up. You’re coming to Germany no matter what at this point. You’ll have to find him, track him down and show up outside his door. That’s what you do to people you love, you just show up at their door, a crying wreck. Maybe he doesn’t want to see you, but at least he’ll believe it’s you.

            Your Coil goes off a few seconds later and you scramble. It’s not Emmerich calling you back. It’s a message.

            From Mizuki.

            _“Tell me when you take off and when you land. Have a safe flight. I just want to know you’re okay, then I’ll leave you alone. I’m sorry.”_

You’re a crying wreck when Emmerich calls you back, this time with video. All he can do is see your face and scream, _“Kristian?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....left.
> 
> [end of act 2]
> 
> author's notes and a really, _really_ important announcement [here](http://wimtheo.tumblr.com/private/115273885524/tumblr_nm5yanbUhe1u6m5a1)


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd like to see some shitty edits i did of emmerich literally MONTHS ago (way before Theo existed) [check out this full body shit](http://gyazo.com/c31a0f5472666ca1dd80793716d36a17) and a [few](http://gyazo.com/288587e9b1d6134a9d67aca227fb30ac) [face](http://gyazo.com/70d9734d210b9e26486a1510d9ae17a2) [sprite](http://gyazo.com/d4768b9ecf262c928b2283a8d6981040) [edits](http://gyazo.com/f3bc4e040cd1be0b8661d98278ec5298) [too](http://gyazo.com/6dbcf92ae37da2a3849fafe63a7a8638) (oh and if he ever had sex it'd look like [this](http://gyazo.com/78f8541602c6d0d91f70eabd9e5a9704)) 8)
> 
> please note before you start reading Act III that all of this -- Mizuki's history and Emmerich's personality as well as Noiz's backstory -- was all conceived LONG before Re:code or Noiz's drama CD, which means it's going to differentiate from canon. i cant really help that, this fic was started way before any of that so -- yeah it's gonna be a little off. theres just not much i can do about that.
> 
>  
> 
> but yAH so... the last 9 chapters (2 are koujaku so they're much shorter but still -- 9 chapters)... it's finished, the whole thing is written and edited already so 9 weeks from now, this will be DONE. i hope it delivers after all this time x)

            You have four messages when you get off the final plane in Berlin.

            Three are from Emmerich, detailing his trip to the airport to pick you up and where he’ll be waiting for you when you get there. Your heart races – you’re in the same building as your little brother for the first time in years, and he’s just a few minutes away. You think you might throw up.

            You do throw up. Your stomach churns a million times over so you rush to the bathroom with your bag and slam the stall closed. There’s no one around so you can be as loud as you want but it’s only nerves – maybe a little bit of dehydration, exhaustion, and motion sickness. The first flight to Tokyo was not the smoothest of flights and you’ve hardly gotten any sleep. Thankfully, it’s nine p.m. in Berlin, so you’re ready to go to bed.

            Of course, you won’t be able to now that you’re here. You’re going to see your brother again for the first time in years and promptly fall asleep? Not likely.

            Then again, you never were allowed to sleep in the same room as your brother growing up. Are you too old for that now? You knew siblings who slept in the same _bed_ when they were young, but they don’t do that at your age. Do you get to make up for all that though, since you didn’t exactly get to have the normal childhood sibling experience? The only times you’d ever slept in the same bed as someone else was after you’d fucked them. You don’t know if you can sleep in the same bed as someone else without having sex with them. You don’t know if that’s allowed. You think you’d like to sleep with Emmerich – not _with_ Emmerich, just in the same bed. Not touching. Just near him. You just want to be near Emmerich.

            In any case, you grab some toilet paper to wipe your mouth and then take a deep breath to quell the urge to vomit again when you realize the fourth message is from Mizuki:

            _“I’m sorry I don’t mean to pressure you but I don’t know where you are. Can you please tell me that you’re safe at least when you get a chance because I’m worried”_

You don’t know how to respond to that, so you swipe the screen away and straighten up. You breathe deeply a few more times and try to clear your head of Mizuki – just for now. He was all you thought about on the first two flights, until you were so tired of holding your tears in that you had to pretend he simply didn’t exist. It’s been twenty hours of flying, so Mizuki’s had almost a full day to deal with – everything. You haven’t had a moment to stop since it all happened and you couldn’t keep going like that. You had to pretend it hadn’t happened at all. But now that you’re here, everything is bubbling to the surface.

            Fortunately, you have someone to help you with it this time.

            You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror on your way out and pause. You turn back slowly to stare at your own face. You look rough. Your skin is dry and your eyes are heavy and dark. Your lips are chapped and cracked open and now you understand why no one wanted to talk to you on the plane. You take your hat off to see how greasy your hair is and immediately put it back on. So – maybe you’ll shower at least, even if you don’t sleep right away. Emmerich will understand. He’ll probably be grateful. And insistent.

            It keeps making your heart speed up, remembering that Emmerich is _here_ , that you’re about to _see him_ , and that you can’t run away now. What will your first words to him be?

            You should have known they’d be nothing.

            You see him from across the way, just a few steps out of the gate and your bag falls off your shoulder and to the floor. Your muscles must have given out because you didn’t drop it on purpose. That’s your baby brother, that’s Emmerich, he’s only a few feet away and you get to watch him for a few seconds before he sees you: he’s staring down at his Coil, sliding his lips against each other in worry and then he stands up on his tiptoes to check over the gate for you. He’s grown. He looks like you – _just_ like you, only maybe not as fucking tired. His hair is longer too, a mess of orange hanging down his neck and into his eyes and he’s wearing a sweater vest over an Oxford with gray slacks, every bit the attractive young professional. You’re wearing old jeans and a hoodie with soda spilled down the front of it.

            When he sees you he bursts into tears. Like brother, like brother. You don’t have time to think much of anything before he breaks into a full-on sprint and tackles you, but it’s not an exciting, “ _I missed you so much, I’m so glad you’re home!”_ moment; it’s a despairing, _“I have never seen you like this before, in person, as adults”_ moment. It’s not a homecoming or a reunification; it’s more like a first-time that’s been put off far too long. You have never truly _seen_ your brother like this. This is your first time. But at least this first time is inherently with someone special.

            You say nothing.

            You almost fall over when he reaches you; you’re so weak from the flight and the emotions that you have to strain to stay on your feet. He presses his face against yours and wraps his arms so tightly around you that he’s practically hugging himself in turn. Your first words to him are unintelligible laughing and sobbing and gasping for breath as you follow suit and push against his face as well, your hands reaching across his waist and up his back and all he does is repeat your name into your ear, _“Kristian, Kristian, Kristian…”_

If people are looking, they know that you’re brothers. They know that his is not a romantic moment for two lovers, but a greeting between brothers and you don’t know if this quite fits that expectation. You don’t know if brothers are supposed to say hello to each other like this, and that’s what wrenches your heart from your chest. You never got to _be_ with your brother. You don’t know how brothers are supposed to act. Emmerich has missed you. All those times you wondered, _does he even think of me?_ This is how much he was thinking of you. He stands on his toes to reach you and you wonder if he’ll ever let go. Not that you want him to any time soon.

            You never got to _touch_ your brother. You were far too scared of hurting him; the only light in your life, the only person you felt didn’t deserve to be hurt. He was always this enthusiastic, especially about _you_. He was always happy to see you, so much so that he risked almost everything coming to visit you at your room. Those were the only times you touched him – under the door, when your fingers met. The times you were allowed to leave the room, you were far too scared to even hug him, no matter how badly you wanted to, terrified that you might injure him. You never touched anyone. The first time someone touched you, they fucked you ten minutes later. You’ve never felt a touch this intimate. It’s intimate because all it wants from you is for you to return its sentiment – it just wants to know you’ve missed it as much as it’s missed you.

            But you think you’ve missed him more.

            “Emmerich,” you finally say, shakily, and out of breath.

            He doesn’t let go. He just says your name once again.

            “I’m tired,” you tell him quietly. You do mean to let him know that you want to sleep, but you also mean generally, you are tired. You are tired of not being with him. You are tired of crying over him. You are tired of not getting to have your little brother, the way other people get to have their little brothers. You are tired of not having him. You want to have him.

            “Okay,” he stutters, finally pulling away, but refusing to let go of your hands. His face is streaked with tears. “I’ll take you to the hotel room. It’s a big one. A suite. With a separate bedroom. I’m going to stay with you tonight.” You nod with a small smile and he hugs you again. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

            You both walk to the hotel, as it’s only down the street, and he doesn’t say a word. He lets you remember Germany, but it quickly occurs to you that you’re far more attached to the streets of Midorijima than those of Berlin, though that’s certainly no fault of the city itself. You don’t actually _know_ these streets and you never did, so there’s not much to remember. You don’t have any childhood memories of this place and the ones you do have, you’d much rather forget than reminisce upon. It’s alright by you though – you’re far too tired to think about much more than walking without collapsing over so you let Emmerich bump his arm against yours every step of the way in complete silence. It’s not far anyway, and he takes you right up – he’s already checked in, you suppose.

            “Thanks for this,” you say in the elevator, pointing around you indiscriminately. You can feel how heavy your eyes are when you look over at him with a smile.

            “It’s nothing,” he says. “I own the room.”

            Ah.

            You nod at him with a roll of your eyes. Of course he does. He works for your father, no doubt – you can’t believe how much you have to catch up on. He doesn’t have much he has to find out about you – just that you’re here now and you’re in love with someone back in Midorijima, but you assume he’s not that interested in that part.

            He leads you to the room on the top floor and you’re not sure why you’re surprised when it’s large and extravagant. There’s a full kitchen with a dining table and everything, plus a television larger than your own back in Midorijima in the living room. There’s a door off to the side that you assume is the bedroom – you stick your head in to check and yeah, there it is, the most ridiculously oversized bedroom you’ve ever seen. Only one bed, but it’s humongous. You and Emmerich could fit on that comfortably with no problem at all. You drop your bag in the doorway and look at him. Neither of you have said much. You don’t think it’s that either of you are shy – it’s just uncomfortable. What do you say? You basically used the last of your energy crying with him at the airport. You sort of want to just start over tomorrow.

            “I’m – pretty tired,” you say. He nods quickly.

            “I know. Go to sleep. I’m going to stay with you.”

            “That’s fine,” you nod back. “Are you –?”

            You point at the couch. He follows your finger and then looks back at you.

            “The bed is big enough, if –?”

            “Yeah,” you tell him quickly. He smiles at you hopefully and then shuffles his feet around.

            “If that’s not weird?”

            “No,” you shake your head.

            “I just feel like we have so much time to make up for,” he says. You keep nodding. He’s truly your brother.

            “We do.”

            “And I want to do everything together.”

            “Well,” you smile. “I really need to take a shower.”

            “Yeah,” he says sharply, taking a step back with an awkward laugh. “Okay, well, sure. You can handle that one on your own.”

            You want to say he hasn’t changed at all, but in reality, you’re not sure if he has or not. You don’t know anything about who he was as a child or a teenager – he still _is_ a teenager, for fuck’s sake. _You’re_ still a teenager, even though you’re almost twenty-one years old. All he could ever really be was the kid who cried outside your door. He was the only person who ever cared for you, and that meant the entire world to you, but you didn’t really _know_ him. You want to know him. You have the chance to know him now, and you’re going to take it.

            You consider all the implications that you’re being in Germany have now as you shower. You can’t use your credit cards, as your parents will see the location and know you’re here. You can’t see them in person either, so you’ll have to avoid the building they operate out of – you don’t remember which one that is or if there are more by now. You have to avoid your old house, which shouldn’t be hard, as it was a gated community anyway, and a bit further out of the city. Emmerich probably knows all the places you should stay away from lest you run into your father having a drink with a client or whatever the fuck he does now, so you’ll need to talk to him about that. You need to talk to him about a lot of things. But maybe you should just sleep for now.

            You step out of the bathroom, finally clean and in fresh clothes after two straight days. You grab your Coil from the bathroom sink and call out, “Hey – do you have to go to work tomorrow?”

            He doesn’t answer. You stick your head further into the bedroom to find him, expecting him to be asleep, but he’s not. He’s sitting up in bed, now in a t-shirt and silk pants, with his hand clasped over his mouth. His eyes are scrunched close as he cries into his palm, trying not to make a sound. You step out toward him.

            “Emmerich?” you say softly. He shakes his head violently.

            “I’m sorry,” he blurts. He takes a moment to collect himself. “I’m just so happy you’re here. I can’t believe it.”

            You’re grateful. You’re pathetically ecstatic that he’s crying; that he’s shed tears over you, just as you have over him. You’re relieved that he’s missed you so much, that he hasn’t simply gotten over you – or worse, brainwashed into hating you.

            You’re so tired of crying, but you do it anyway. You’ve cried more in the past month than you have since – you were a child, locked away and forgotten. But seeing Emmerich weep for you makes you weep too, so you turn off the bathroom light and rush to him, climbing up on the bed and before you know it, you’re both on your sides, staring at each other with your heads on your respective pillows. He grabs your hands and holds them tightly as he laughs at himself, he laughs that he’s unable to stop crying and every time he giggles, you cry more. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

            “What –” he finally says, but has to gulp down a huge rush of air. “What – finally made you come back?”

            Oh.

            You hadn’t thought about Mizuki, whose messages are still unanswered, waiting on your Coil, since you got off the plane. You blink slowly and stare at the bed. You can’t answer that. Not yet. You can’t tell him about Mizuki yet, because then your tears would turn sad instead of remaining joyous, and it’s too long and painful of a story to tell him right now. You wish you could, but you can’t. You lick your lips. You meet his eyes and shake your head slightly. You can’t tell him –

            And he seems to understand. He nods at you and looks away. It’s a strained silence that you can only think of Mizuki through. He’s back in Midorijima, with Dry Juice, with Beni Shigure. He has people. He has Koujaku. He has someone who loves him.

            And so do you.

            “It’s going to be hard to sleep without Emmerich,” your brother says. You nod slightly and then realize what he’s said and watch him quizzically.

            “Without – who?”

            “Without Emmerich,” he repeats, his eyes fluttering closed calmly. He’s drifting off, still holding your hands. You stare dumbly at his dozing face.

            “… _You’re_ Emmerich.”

            “No,” he sighs. “My stuffed deer. I don’t like sleeping without him.”

            You smile to yourself. You’re going to forego the part where he’s eighteen and has trouble sleeping without his stuffed animal and go straight to the obvious bit:

            “You have a stuffed animal… named after yourself?”

            “I’m not very creative.”

            “You could have named it after me.”

            “I tried,” he says, as if he’s too sleepy to know what he’s saying. “It was too sad.”

            You fall asleep on your first night with your brother with his hands in yours, tears on your cheek, and a slight laughter on your lips.

            Your brother is an idiot.

            When you wake up, Emmerich is still asleep and you take a moment to study his face. He has freckles along the bridge of his nose and under his eyes, brushing just the tops of his cheeks. He’s always had those, probably because he spent more time in the sun than you did. You might have freckles like his too, if you were ever allowed to go outside – and if you ever deigned to do it once you had to freedom to yourself. His eyes are also bigger than yours, or at least, they always seemed that way. Maybe it’s just because his eyes are so deeply brown that they seem to take up more space. You wonder how he gets away with his hair being so long and unkempt, as you’re sure your father has some strict codes of appearance, but otherwise, he looks exactly like you: high cheekbones and a thin face. You certainly noticed that he’s attractive, not in a weird way, just in that he looks like you, and you know you’re attractive, but he has more life to him. He bounces and vibrates and radiates more than you do, and you don’t know how he still comes across as so upbeat. He’s the one who had to actually _live_ with your parents. You were alone and forgotten, but at least you weren’t under their thumbs constantly.

            He stirs and you want to look away so he doesn’t catch you staring, but you don’t. When he opens his eyes, he looks right at you – and smiles. He’s very beautiful, both in the same way as Mizuki and not – you don’t want to kiss him, but seeing him happy does make your heart flutter.

            “Good morning,” he says. Before you can answer, he reaches out and pulls on your snakebite.

            “Ow!” you shout, pulling away and grabbing your lip. “What the hell?”

            “I forgot!” he says with a laugh. “I forgot – you could – feel inside your mouth.”

            It isn’t uncomfortable when he says it. It isn’t uncomfortable that he knows you can’t feel anything. It was the basis of your relationship and you love Mizuki to death, but it’s nice to have someone who isn’t new to it.

            “Don’t you have to go to work?” you ask with a fake scowl. He shakes his head.

            “I called in sick last night,” he tells you as he rolls onto his back. He folds his hands on his stomach and stares at the ceiling. You hum.

            “No one’s going to believe that,” you say. “You never get sick."

            Ah – now it’s awkward.

            You both seem to think it at the same time: how would you know? He never did as a kid, that was what your parents would always say. They’d laud him for being such a healthy, strong child, and they’d use it as a reason why you weren’t allowed around him. He doesn’t get _sick_ , so why would they put him at risk of _injury_? It’s not like he needs to see his big brother or anything. It sort of stuck with you, you suppose, since you heard it enough: _“He doesn’t get sick. We don’t want him hurt by someone who can’t think of anyone but himself.”_

You both sit up in bed and try to think of something else to say, but it hangs over you. Not that he never gets sick specifically, but the general realization that you have to talk about these things. You have to bring up these shitty things from childhood that you get the feeling you both tried very hard to forget about. He takes a breath.

            “I get sick sometimes now,” he says, strained as he forces the words out of his mouth. “Especially when I’ve been drinking. They’ll just think I’m hungover.”

            Maybe it’s because he’s put the painful effort into starting the conversation and you want to get it over with, you don’t know, but the questions start to swell up in your mind. You blurt out:

            “Do you work for dad?”

            He nods quickly. He wants to get this stuff out of the way just as much as you do.

            “How long?”

            “I’ve worked for him since I was sixteen,” he says. “But I started full-time once I graduated.”

            “What do you do?”

            “I’m in a different department than he is right now,” he tells you. “He wanted me to work under him but I told him I wanted to do something independent from him.”

            “What did he say to that?” You don’t know much about your father. You don’t know much about his personality or his character outside of how he treated you. Emmerich shrugs.

            “He liked that I wanted to be on my own,” he says. “But I’m still – working for him. I don’t think he understands what ‘on my own’ means. Which is fucked up, since you left – I…”

            You pull your knees up to your chin and look at him. He glances at you nervously.

            “What did they say when I left?” you ask. “You know I meant to come find you. I couldn’t get to you. I wanted to tell you.”

            “I know,” he nods. “I know you would have.” He looks at the floor. “They told me that you were gone and you weren’t coming back and that if anyone asked about you, I should tell them you went off to do your own thing. Which was torture because technically it was true. But no one understood the – context, I guess.”

            You nod your head up in contemplation. Huh. You always wondered what they told Emmerich about you.

            “What else did they say about me?” you ask.

            “Are you sure you want to know?”

            Your heart drops through your feet. You didn’t think about that. Maybe you shouldn’t have to hear the words come from your brother’s mouth, but you’re desperately curious.

            “Yes. Tell me.”

            “I don’t think I want to,” he says quietly. You frown.

            “Please. I won’t be upset.”

            “I know. But I will.”

            You don’t reply to that. You stare at him incredulously. He really loves you. Someone really loves you. Suddenly, all the things you said to Mizuki seem so petty. All the times you accused him of not caring are meaningless. You feel like such an idiot. Of course Mizuki loved you.

            “It’s too hard,” he tells you. “It’s too hard to think about all that, when I used to only get to see you through the fucking door. And then you were gone and I was so mad. Not at you, of course. I would have gotten the fuck out, too. But I couldn’t believe I was stuck here and I couldn’t do anything. I had nothing to go off of. They wouldn’t tell me about you. I was completely at your mercy, and I only just started to plan how to find you. I figured it would be easier when I was eighteen, when I was an adult. When I was a grownup, I could try to find you. But I still had no idea where to start.” He wipes his eye with the heel of his hand, just like you do sometimes. “I really thought I’d never see you again.”

            Your heart skips a beat again and you scoot closer to him in order to wrap an arm around his shoulders. He leans into your touch and you sit with him like that for a few minutes as he cries again. You let him whimper and breathe and sob, and you realize that this is what brothers are supposed to do. You’re a big brother. You’re supposed to comfort your baby brother when he cries. You’re allowed to touch him. You’re allowed to touch him when he needs it. And he needs it right now.

            “We did see each other sometimes,” you remind him with a gentle nudge. He laughs lightly.

            “Yeah,” he mutters, “when they made us go to the – stupid operas.”

            “You liked the operas,” you say.

            “I liked the food,” he says, bringing his head up to stare you in shock. “I was like, four years old!” You laugh at him.

            “You were like, seven. And _I_ liked the operas,” you shrug. “That was probably just because I got to sit next to you, though.”

            “Do you still go to operas?” he asks. You smile sadly at him.

            “Midorijima isn’t exactly an opera place,” you tell him. He sobs out a laugh and then slinks back into your chest just as your Coil rings.

            You look at the side table where it sits, even though you already know who it is.

            Mizuki’s name flashes on the screen. Emmerich twists his torso to check as well. You’re not sure you can answer it.

            “Who is that?”

            You don’t want to say _no one_ –

            “Just – a – friend,” you tell him with a heavy breath. He pulls away from you and gets off the bed finally to head to the dresser.

            “Get it,” he says. “I really need to shower anyway. I’m sure your friends want to know you’re okay.”

            He doesn’t notice that you’re watching him, eyes wide and mouth almost gaping as he heads into the bathroom. He just – so easily assumed that you had friends. _Friends –_ more than one. He’s assuming an incredible amount of knowledge and you’re stunned that he thinks so highly of you –

            Of course he does. He loves you. Emmerich loves you.

            You rush to the Coil and answer it.

            Mizuki’s face pops up in front of you. It goes from worried – all stitched eyebrows and thin lips – to shocked and wide-eyed. He didn’t think you’d pick up. You didn’t either. His neck is bandaged up. He shakes his head slightly before he can think of anything to say.

            “Noiz!” he shouts. You want to shout, too. Seeing Mizuki’s face feels so good but you’re still so tired – everything has all happened so quickly that you’re still sort of lagging behind.

            “Hey,” you say quietly. He looks like he tears up immediately but doesn’t cry.

            “You’re okay,” he says. “Are you okay?”

            “Yeah,” you nod.

            “Where are you?”

            “I… went to Germany.”

            “Oh,” he breathes, his head falling to the side in relief. “Okay. I’m glad. You hadn’t answered anything and I just wasn’t – I didn’t know. I didn’t know if you were okay.”

            “I’m okay,” you assure him with a nod. You wish he were here. You don’t want to leave Emmerich, but you wish you had Mizuki, too. You wish you could apologize to him a million times over and that he’d forgive you and that you could go back to the way things were – but you know you can’t do that. You know this is going to take a long time to fix.

            But Mizuki wanted to make sure you were okay. Because he loves you. Of course he loves you.

            You want to take the time to fix it.

            “Are you with… your brother?” he asks. “I’m sorry.  You don’t have to answer that. I just wanted to know you were –”

            “Yeah,” you interrupt. “I got in last night. He’s in the shower right now. I’ve been with him.”

            “And not your parents?” he asks quickly. Your breath hitches. He cares so much about you.

            “No,” you shake your head.

            “Are you planning on seeing them?”

            “No.”

            “Okay… good,” he nods slowly, looking around the room he’s in. You can’t tell for sure, but you think he’s in his kitchen. “So… then… I’ll let you go. I didn’t mean to bother you or anything, I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

            You don’t want to answer. If you answer, he’ll hang up. And then he might not call you again. And then you’ll have to struggle with the decision to call him instead and you don’t want him to leave.

            “So – you’re okay, too?” you ask. He smiles slightly before he nods softly.

            “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says. “Koujaku’s been staying with me.”

            “Good,” you say, and you mean it. “I was hoping you weren’t alone.”

            “I was hoping the same for you.”

            You lick your lips in despair. Fuck, you wish you had him next to you.

            “I’m not alone,” you tell him. He nods.

            “So… I should let you go…”

            You sigh.

            “Alright.”

            Neither of you move to turn the Coil off. Neither of you move at all.

            “Can I…” he trails off.

            “Yeah?”

            “Can I call you… again?”

            “ _Yes,”_ you say immediately. He perks up.

            “Really?” he asks. “That would be okay?”

            “ _Yes,”_ you repeat, just as earnestly. “Can I call you?”

            “Yes!” he shouts with a smile. “You can message me whenever you want.”

            “Okay,” you nod fervently. “I’ll – I’ll call you later tonight. What time is it there?”

            “Five.”

            “It’s ten here… so you’re seven hours ahead.”

            Mizuki nods. You hear Emmerich rustling at the sink and realize he’s been there for quite some time. He’s probably overheard some of the conversation and you think you sort of blush.

            “Okay, well, I’ll try to call you before you go to sleep,” you say, unable to hide your excitement, no matter how embarrassed you are.

            “Okay,” Mizuki smiles. He’s excited too. “I’ll talk to you then.”

            “Okay. Bye.”

            You both hesitate to hang up. He’s so beautiful. You just want to look at him one last time before you turn it off.

            He loves you. Of course he loves you. He wouldn’t lie about that.

            “So – who was that?”

            You look up to see Emmerich smirking at you, toothbrush in hand.

            This is something you never got to do.

            You never got to be made fun of by your brother.

            “Shut up,” you mutter immediately. Emmerich spits toothpaste into the sink.

            “What!” he shouts. “Why were you so weird with him?”

            “Because I never learned to socialize,” you say with a glare. Emmerich sighs and rolls his eyes at you.

            “That’s not funny,” he says. “I think it’s because you _like_ him.”

            “Are you twelve?”

            “If I was twelve, you’d be fourteen,” he says haughtily, sticking his head under the faucet to rinse his mouth out.

            “So?”

            “So! You’re not that much older than I am,” he says. “Who was it?”

            You roll your eyes and fold your arms. He’s wearing tight jeans and a nice sweater. You don’t have clothes nearly that classy. You wonder how well you’re going to fit in here or if you’re going to have to buy some new clothes. You forgot how upper class your family really was. Your piercings sort of give you away.

            “He’s just some guy,” you say.

            “A guy?” he asks. “Not a friend?”

            You freeze.

            That’s right. You called him your friend. And Emmerich wasn’t at all shocked to think you’d have friends. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t some guy. He was your friend. He was important to you – he _is_ important to you. Because he’s your best friend.

            “No… he’s my friend,” you admit, staring at the ground, your hands falling helplessly into your lap as you think about Mizuki’s smile. Emmerich leans against the wall with his arms crossed. “He’s the first friend I ever made. The only friend I’ve ever had… other than you.”

            You look up at him and his face falls. He’s not so cocky now, but you didn’t mean to say it to upset him.

            “So you called him ‘just a guy’ because…?”

            You frown.

            “Because he confuses me.”

            Emmerich echoes your expression for a second, and then a moment of clarity seems to wash over him. He leans his head against the wall too and watches you sadly.

            “He’s the reason you’re here, isn’t he?”

            You bite your bottom lip.

            “No,” you tell him. “You’re the reason I’m here.”

            You stand up and approach him awkwardly, your arms outstretched. He falls away from the wall and into your arms for a hug, but this one is gentler. This one is post-shock of seeing each other for the first time after so long; this one is two brothers who need to touch each other to make sure they’re really there.

            “He might have given me a push though,” you say quietly. Emmerich pulls you tighter.

            “I love you, Kristian.”

            “I love you, too.”

            “I’m glad you’re here.”

            You rest your chin on his head.

            “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also [emmerich](https://40.media.tumblr.com/cf7af98162095fac4e72e11664f5b6a7/tumblr_nnfvn51sUz1u6m5a1o6_1280.jpg) [the](https://40.media.tumblr.com/29809e42c777e8ab4f3fabd2f83c5ef2/tumblr_nnfvn51sUz1u6m5a1o1_1280.jpg) [deer](https://scontent-ord.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xaf1/v/t1.0-9/10451704_10202939130656240_3854212677439438653_n.jpg?oh=5f4b58beb10c14cd315d0bcaf926db4f&oe=55DC5E0B) is a very real stuffed animal [that last one is me and him the day i bought him :')]


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you thought you'd been born unable to feel, but you swear you could write a dissertation on Emmerich's warmth -- and how much you miss Mizuki's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [recommended listening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDaZJ-iTfcI)

           Three days into your stay, you still haven’t called Mizuki. And Mizuki hasn’t called you.

            It’s awkward and difficult but you _hate_ it – you don’t know why he hasn’t called you either, but you imagine his reasoning is the same as yours. You want to talk to him, you want to apologize, you _desperately_ want to see his face in real time. You have pictures of him. You even have some pretty risqué pictures of him (he knows you have them, of course, and you hope he’s looking at the ones he has you, too). But they aren’t the same as getting to see him. You used to see him almost every day and now you haven’t spoken to him in three.

            Emmerich, however, has hardly left your side. You have never enjoyed spending this much time so close to another human being before, but here you are, almost as clingy as he is. You don’t want to let go. You’re still afraid that if he leaves for longer than to take a shit, he’ll never come back and you’ll never see him again. You know it’s irrational and you know it will subside, but for now, you’re perfectly happy to share a bed and a couch and a bathroom and a desk and a dresser and every breath you inhale.

            You spent the first day in a surprisingly quiet room, hugging each other and holding each other and feeling each other out. Things are far more physical than you expected, but that was exactly what you wanted. You wanted to be able to touch someone without it being sexual; without them wanting something more from you. Mizuki was that way, but you wanted more from him. Emmerich is a perfect equilibrium: you both want to touch each other – and that’s it. You want to know he’s there. He knows that you can’t feel him; he knows that’s not why you’re wanting for his touch. He knows that you just want to be reminded that this is real and this is happening and he wants the same thing.

            It’s been too hard to talk about much still, which is fine by you. The first day, he took you out to dinner to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant your father will never go to with him. It was dark and smoky and reminded you of Midorijima. You told him that, and he asked you about the island. You told him about the first day you got there and how it’s completely different now than it was then. When you arrived it was a slimy island full of backstreet gang violence that was somehow both criminalized and enforced. You told him about Rhyme and Rib and Toue; about Oval Tower and about how Aoba and Mink blew it up. You showed him the Usagimodoki in your pocket and explained Allmates to him (he decided that if he had one, it would be a tiny fawn with a cravat and you laughed because he was absolutely right). The entire story took you almost an hour. He was positively rapt. He almost didn’t believe you. You smiled at his hanging jaw and wide eyes. He couldn’t believe you knew the guy who brought it all down, and you wondered to yourself if he thought Aoba was your friend. Then you wondered if Aoba _was_ your friend. You’ve never been sure. You did kiss him. But he never Rhymed with you and you didn’t know him well before he left with Mink. But Aoba was almost as good as Mizuki, so you let Emmerich think he was your friend. You’re pretty sure that even if Aoba didn’t agree, he wouldn’t have corrected him. He was a good guy like that.

            You showed him movies in the hotel that night, movies that you’d watched with Mizuki – some shitty American ones and then some better Japanese ones and he said he loved them all, but that he might be biased because this has been the best two days of his life, so he’s bound to like anything he does, if he does it with you. That was the first time you shoved him by the shoulder and called him a loser. He pushed you back, far stronger than you expected, and told you that it took one to know one, and you couldn’t believe how much of a nerd he was.

            You both woke up late the next morning and got dressed to go out, but instead ended up spending an hour taking pictures together. He gelled his hair for the first time and coifed it to the side in a manner you were _not_ expecting. He looked so professional and classy; his bangs were out of his eyes and off his forehead, so you could see the freckles that danced along his brow bone and the big, brown eyes that you knew so well. He looked older than you like that, clean-shaven and piercing-free; his button-up and slacks the perfect mix between casual and business and you were sort of shocked. You were definitely intimidated, by your own little brother, that his life could be this much different from your own. That you wore the same hat every day and tongued your snake bites while he styled his hair in the mirror for ten minutes.

            You made fun of him.

            You wanted to send a few of the selfies to Mizuki, but you figured that might send the wrong message: “ _Hey, I know I haven’t called like I said I would, I’ve just been having too much fun not thinking about you,”_ though you know Mizuki isn’t silly enough to imagine he hasn’t crossed your mind even once. And of course, he still hadn’t called you either.

            Emmerich took you out to Berlin that day, just little cafes and parks, especially ones he knew your father wouldn’t go to, and the two of you sat and drank coffee all day, Emmerich switching to decaf at three-thirty. You learned he has a very strict regimen about his body and started to wonder why you weren’t the same. He asked if you had any routines for your condition and you uneasily sidestepped the subject because you didn’t want to tell him no. You didn’t want him to know you used to be so apathetic towards living or dying. He couldn’t even tell you what your parents used to say about you. You don’t think he could handle knowing you didn’t care if you’d died.

            And you do care now, in any case, so it doesn’t need to be said. You went out to a bar at night he got a little tipsy, just enough to remind you of Mizuki. You made him drink some water when you got home and he smiled at you and took the bottle. You took more selfies until he decided to dump half the bottle on your head and you pretended to be angry and took a shower.

            Now it’s the morning of day three, and you haven’t heard from Mizuki and Emmerich has to go back to work. You guess it had to end sometime, and you remember that you have to make some choices eventually. Still, it’s too early. It’s too soon to know what decisions even have to be made, and Emmerich pulls his tie up against his chest just like your father used to. You suppose everyone ties their tie the same, really, but something about how white his knuckles are as he strangles the cloth against him is reminiscent of your father’s death-grip. You lick your lips and try not to think about it.

            “So, I… I’ll be back after work,” he says, grabbing a messenger bag on the foot of the bed. You kick at his hands playfully and he slaps your foot. “I’ll, um – I’ll take you to the apartment tonight, if you want. But I’m not sure it’s the best idea.”

            You discussed this too, briefly. You could stay with him at his apartment, which is bigger, and you’d have your own room. It’s homier, too, not as sterile as a hotel room, even if Emmerich does technically own it.         

            “Dad?” you ask. Emmerich nods grimly.

            “He comes over without telling me,” he says. “Which is usually fine, because he hardly ever stays long, but… I just don’t think we should take any risks. He doesn’t come here.”

            You nod quietly from the bed, your arms under your head and your leg bent at the knee. You’re wearing shorts and a t-shirt and he’s all dressed for the office. It makes sense. He’s the son who turned out right. He’s the pride and joy of the family. You’re the one with metal in your face and no job. Among other failures.

            “I’ll see you ton—”

            “I mean, this is all, because you don’t want to see him again, right?” he asks suddenly, his fingers playing with the strap of his bag nervously. “You – you don’t want to see either of them? At all?”

            You sit up. That’s what you told him. You told him on the first day – and the second – and yesterday – that you were here for him, and not to try to fix things with your parents. You didn’t want to be a part of the family anymore, not outside of him. You wanted a brother, but you didn’t need more than that. The rest of your family was – well, it didn’t really matter if you had any other family – he was all you needed here.

            “How could I?”

            He shrugs violently and nods, dropping his bag on the bed before picking it up again.

            “No, no, of course,” he says. “They’re – they’re terrible to _me_ , even and what they did to – no, of course.” He slings the bag over his shoulder. “You shouldn’t see them.” He takes a breath, like he’s unsure about what he’s about to say. Then his head tilts up and he looks you right in the eye, his own eyes looking crazed. “ _I_ shouldn’t see them anymore.”

            You scoot down the bed toward him. That’s serious. That’s a very serious thought to be having right now. You weren’t expecting this. This is heavy.

            “Well—”

            “Should I stop seeing them?” he says. “Should I leave? _How_ would I leave? Is it betraying you to keep living under them? Now that you’re here and all? Shouldn’t I – do something?”

            You’ve thought about this. You’ve thought about all of this. Emmerich obviously hasn’t, and you don’t want him to be thinking of it right now, so you try to cut him off before this breakdown starts. He can’t afford this just before work.

            “You’re not betraying me,” you tell him, reaching out to him. He takes your hands and squeezes it tight. “Don’t worry about it for right now. If you want to talk about this later, we’ll talk about it later. Don’t worry right now.”

            He squeezes you again, and then falls into you for an aggressive hug. You gasp when he knocks his head against yours.

            “You’ll be here when I get back, right?”

            He whispers it into your ear, as if you’re a ghost or a dream and you stare at the mirror across from you. Your hair is a mess but you look less tired than ever before. Your skin is colorful, instead of sickly pale and – you think you see the beginnings of some freckles across the bridge of your nose.

            Emmerich is worried that if he leaves, you might disappear. Almost as worried as you were that if he left, he might never come back.

            You grip his shoulder tight in your hand.

            “You’ll come back, right?”

            You whisper it in his ear just as lightly as he did in yours. He pulls back quickly and looks you in the eye.

            “Of course!” he shouts. “Of course I’m coming back! Do you think I wouldn’t?”

            You watch him with concern for a few seconds. He’s wondering if you think so little of him that you entertained the idea that he might leave you.

            Of course you don’t think that.

            “No,” you say. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

            He still has a hard time leaving. He hugs you at the door and then at the elevator and then in the lobby and then halfway down the street. He’s sort of like a small child, constantly turning around to hug his mommy or daddy, and you wonder if he was the same as you: always wanting to hug your mother and father, but knowing that they wouldn’t let you. And to be fair, you don’t really want to watch him leave, so you keep following him, pretending that your conversation about deer is just so enthralling that you don’t want it to end (although, you kind of don’t, because Emmerich is _obsessed_ and it’s the kind of thing you would have never known about him, and you like to see him light up when he talks about the _Odocoileus virginianus,_ which he tells you is the scientific name for the white-tailed deer). You finally wave goodbye as he crosses the street and then you head back in and up to your room.

            Instead of calling Mizuki like you should with your first free moments since you’ve gotten here, you pass out on the bed until three in the afternoon. You were apparently fairly tired still, even though you’d had pretty decent sleep since you arrived here. You just hadn’t slept that _much_ through the nerves of wanting to spend every second with Emmerich. Every time you turned in your sleep and remembered that you were in a huge, king-sized bed with your brother next to you, you got too excited to drift off again.

            You check your Coil – two messages from Emmerich asking how you’re doing, which make you smile – but nothing from Mizuki. You frown and lean against the bedframe. You wish you hadn’t slept so long. Now you look like shit and feel like it, too. The blackout curtains just make this room so fucking comfortable. You take a few minutes to rub the sleep out of your eyes and then head to the bathroom.

            There’s a giant tub and Emmerich has some bubble bath sitting on the ledge. You turn on the shower but stare at the small, pink container with a confused smile. Emmerich takes bubble baths? _Pink_ bubble baths? That’s adorable. You want to take a pink bubble bath. There’s no reason to, of course, since it’s not warm or comforting or relaxing for _your_ body; it doesn’t take the edge off a hard day at work like you imagine it does for Emmerich. You only shower to make yourself look clean and presentable – and to smell nice. You look at the bubble bath again before you start to disrobe and step under the spray.

            You pick it up and uncap it. You sniff it. It’s sweet, like marshmallows.

            That’s nice. You’ll never use it. But it’s nice. You wish you could use it. You put the cap back on and get under the water.

            Maybe you’ll use it.

            You have that nagging feeling in the back of your head, and you _know_ it’s because you want to call Mizuki, but you try to pretend that you have a few more things to do, first. Maybe he’ll call before you finish your long to-do list of –

            Checking out the hotel bar.

            You make your way down in the elevator, aware that you should be exploring your immediate space anyway, since it’s too risky to go out and chance a meeting with your father. You wonder if he’d even recognize you but immediately realize _yes_ , of course he would, because you look just like his other son – his _real_ son – his perfect son. And no matter how much metal you put in your face, you still have your father’s eyes. He’ll recognize those from a mile away. They certainly were his favorite thing to comment on when you were a child: “ _The only thing that you and I have in common are our eyes, you little monster.”_

            You shove that out of your mind as you head into the bar. It’s classy and upscale, like you should have realized, since this _is_ a hotel where the business elite stay. The other patrons are in suits and skirts and blouses and ties and you’re in your rabbit hoodie and jeans, complete with bunny ears hanging limply off the hood. Even the bartender is wearing a tie, but he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest that you resemble a tiny, neon, woodland creature. He nods at you as you sit down, which, for some reason, takes a lot of energy out of you. You’re trying to find the perfect seat – even though it’s four p.m. and every stool is free. You want the perfect seat.

            When you finally find the one you feel most comfortable in – the one four down from the right – you sit down gingerly and the bartender puts a cocktail napkin down in front of you. He looks young. Probably as young as you. His hair is dark and swept to the side and you have to figure out if you can do that with your hair, why does everyone do that with their hair? He nods again and asks you what you want to drink, which somehow takes you off guard.

            “I—” you stammer. You say the only thing that comes to your head: “Amaretto and Coke.”

            Yes, this is nice. You like sitting at the bar and having a drink. Sitting alone, at the bar: the coolly lit, fancy bar, with clean tabletops and orderly patrons, all sitting at their little tables with laptops and documents spread out in front of them. You like sitting in your bunny rabbit hoodie and jeans that are hiding your thigh-highs away from these people, who are nothing like you. They’re like Emmerich. And he’ll be home soon, so maybe if he comes to join you here, everyone will just think you’re on your day off from work at a busy company and you’re wearing this sweatshirt ironically. Really, deep down, you’re one of them. You’re a business elite. You’re rich because of your daddy, and your son will be rich because of his daddy, too. Yeah. This is really nice.

            The bartender puts the drink down in front of you and you pay him. You tip him well and bring the drink to your lips to take your first, tentative sip.

            Yes. This is _nice_. An amaretto and Coke. Your drink. This is your drink. This is the drink you always order when you go out to bars, which you do _so_ often. It’s sounds pretty classy, too – more unique than rum and Coke, at least, which is the only other cocktail you know. Yes. Yes! This is nice. This is _so nice_. You love this. This is just like home.

            You sort of freeze up, lips pursed against the glass, when you realize you just called Midorijima _home_. And of course, that’s why all of this is actually so terrible. This isn’t nice. You hate this. The people here annoy you and the drink isn’t even that good. At first you think it’s because the bartender sucks, but then you realize it’s not because of him at all. It’s because this isn’t Midorijima and you aren’t in Black Needle. You never liked to drink alcohol. You never went to bars. Black Needle was a tattoo parlor, and you only started drinking at the bar because Mizuki was your friend. If Mizuki isn’t here – if even Koujaku isn’t here to fuck with – it’s not really worth it. You don’t like this. You’re not a part of this. Black Needle, you were a part of. You belonged there from day one, even if it took you a while to realize. You don’t belong _here_. You don’t like this at all.

            You leave the glass half-full on the bar as you stand up quickly and try to shuffle away. The bartender catches you before you make it out.

            “Hey! Was there something wrong with the drink?”

            “No,” you mutter, without turning around. “I just remembered I have to make a call.”

            He shouts something else at you but you don’t hear him. You have your Coil out and ringing before the elevator even opens to your floor. It rings and rings, and you close your eyes in embarrassment. Of course Mizuki is not going to pick up. He was being nice before, when he asked if he could call. He was letting you down easy by not calling. He was trying to tell you that he wasn’t going to chase you, he didn’t care what you did at this point. It’s so clear now.

            “Hey?”

            Of _course_ he was going to pick up. (You were never worried.)

            “Hey,” you shout, your eyes springing awake just as the elevator doors open. Mizuki is on his bed, in his sweatpants. You guess it’s about eleven there, so he’s getting ready for bed.

            “Hey,” he says with a soft smile. He adjusts his Coil camera and sits down cross-legged on his bed. “Hey.”

            You’re staring. You’re smiling so hard that you almost forget to get off the elevator.

            “Hey.”

            You tell him to hang on as you get back to your room and relax on your own bed, mimicking his pose and then you take a few moments to look at him. He’s doing something else on his computer while he waits for you to get settled, one of his cats begging to be pet as it paces through the space between his arms and his chest. You watch as he reaches to pet it every few seconds, his face focused severely on his other screen. The cat meows. Mizuki pets it. You miss him so much.

            “Okay,” you say, clearing your throat. He looks up at you quickly and swipes his other screen away and smiles.

            “Hey,” he says. It’s the nine-thousandth time he’s said it, but you would listen to it nine thousand more. You feel your cheeks pull up.

            “ _Hey_.”

            “So…”

            You think you’re both taking some time to just look at each other. He seems sort of embarrassed, like he doesn’t know what to say and his lips keep pulling into smiles he’s trying not to give away. You’re both beating around the bush. Neither of you want to jump right into anything too heavy… but you can’t help it. You shake your head a bit and look him right in the eye:

            “I miss you.”

            His eyebrows rise and his mouth opens a bit in surprise. He wasn’t expecting that. You’re not sure why. He shuts his mouth quickly and swallows hard.

            “I miss you, too.”

            You take a deep breath. You’re not about to cry, but you’re sure your face looks the part. You can’t reach out and touch him right now. You never knew you could miss something you never had, but right now, you miss the way he feels.

            “Emmerich asked this morning if he should leave my dad’s company,” you tell him. You need to talk to him. You know there are a lot of things hanging in the air right now that you need to discuss – Morphine, Virus and Trip, the things you both said before you left, what your relationship is, what it’s going to be – but you need Mizuki to be what he used to be for a second: someone who listened. Someone who cared. Someone who connected with you.

            “Yeah?” he asks. “Like, for good?”

            You’re incredibly grateful that he’s going to be that for you.

            “Yeah,” you nod. “He started to freak out about it just before work and I told him to stop worrying. He works for my dad, which I wasn’t sure about, but he does. I don’t know anything about them. I don’t know how my parents must have treated him while I was gone. He won’t even tell me the things they said about _me_. I really have no idea how to ask how they treated _him_. We haven’t talked about too much important stuff, yet. It’s really difficult.”

            “I’m sure,” he says. Then he stays quiet. He’s waiting to see if you’re done talking, just like he always has. You breathe heavily through your nose and look away for a moment.

            “I don’t know what to do,” you tell him. “What should I do?”

            Mizuki licks his lips and stares at you sadly.

            “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know what you should do. I’m sorry. I can’t fix this.”

            It hits you in the gut – but in a good way. It’s a little unnerving, hearing Mizuki remind you of the things he screamed at you that night, but it’s also true, and it’s not that hard to bear. He can’t fix this. Nothing he says will magically fix things, and even if it did, he wouldn’t necessarily be right. He’s the smartest person you’ve ever met – but he can’t know everything.

            “Right,” you say quietly. You stare down at your nails. This is good. You actually feel good, even if you’re still at a loss for what to do.

            “I can tell you my opinion.”

            “Please,” you say quickly, your head shooting up. Okay, so it _was_ good, but you’d definitely like to hear what he has to say. He can’t know everything, but he sure seems to know better than you at times.

            “I think that he should,” he tells you. “I mean, I don’t think I’m saying anything new or shocking, but I do think that whatever – I don’t know, hardships and troubles it costs, he should do it anyway. It’s going to be tough, but it’s going to be worth it. That’s what I think.”

            It’s reassuring. And you realize that reassurance is all you need. It’s probably all you ever needed. You were so set on Mizuki being the thing that came into your life to fix all your problems, that you never understood all you ever _really_ needed was to know that someone even cared about them.

            “You think so?”

            “I mean… this is serious stuff but… they _abused you_ , Noiz. And they probably abused him, too. I am so scared that you’re going to go back to them somehow.”

            “I’m not,” you say quickly, shaking your head and staring him down. “I’m not going to go back to them.”

            “I hope you don’t.”

            “I _won’t_.”

            “Then make sure he knows that,” he says. “And make sure he knows that he doesn’t deserve to be treated that way, either. Make sure he hasn’t been manipulated to feel the way you felt. Because neither of you deserve that.”

            Fuck. Mizuki is right, and the thought that Emmerich might feel the way you felt –

            “You don’t think he felt that way, do you?” you ask. Your mouth goes entirely dry at the thought. Emmerich going through what you went through – that’s something you can’t handle.

            “I don’t know,” Mizuki says pointedly. “I can’t know that. I don’t know Emmerich.”

            “He can’t have,” you say, panicked, more to yourself than to Mizuki. “I can’t see him like that. That would kill me. He’s only eighteen. He can’t have gone through that, he doesn’t deserve that.” You imagine a young Emmerich, far too sexualized for his age. Far too self-hating for how good he is. Far too much like you. You would _kill_ your parents if that were true.

            Mizuki sighs and cocks his head to the side. You look at him, breathing heavily. He blinks slowly and meets your eyes on the screen.

            “I know how you feel.”

            The panic attack comes crashing down around you when you understand: Mizuki felt this way about you. He watched you go through this, too. And this was hard on him. And he never told you that.

            “You felt this way with me?” you ask. It seems like the question is difficult for him, like he doesn’t want to answer.

            “It’s not – easy to watch someone you really like be so sure they don’t matter,” he says. “But it’s also not easy to just – break out of mindsets like that, I know. I couldn’t tell you to just _stop_ feeling that way. But it’s so hard to convince people that they’re worth it, when they really, _really_ don’t believe they are. And it’s hard when it’s so obvious to you.”

            “That’s what you meant,” you say. “That’s what you meant, when you said it wasn’t all about me?”

            Mizuki shakes his head.

            “I said a lot of stuff out of emotion, I didn’t mean it –”

            “But you said it,” you interrupt. “That means you felt it. And you just said… You can’t just stop yourself from feeling a certain way.”

            Mizuki takes a deep breath and then blows it out. It’s so strong that it blows his bangs up. You can’t help but smile.

            “All I meant,” he says slowly, “when I said that not everything was about you, was that _you_ didn’t hurt me. And it’s been so hard to convince you that you should stop hurting _yourself_ , that hearing you blame one more thing on yourself was frustrating. Especially because it involved _me,_ and I knew it wasn’t true. You never hurt me the way Virus and Trip did. You kissed me when I was drunk, you thought I wanted sex even when I said I didn’t, but when I really told you to get off, you didn’t force your way on me. And you never did it again. You heard me when I told you what was wrong. Virus and Trip _kidnapped_ me. They _brainwashed_ me. They’re a completely different league. You _never_ hurt me the way they did but you took all their guilt and felt it for them. It was frustrating. Because I wanted you to see how much I loved you and you couldn’t. And sometimes it just felt like you didn’t want to. It felt like you just wanted to blame yourself. And that sucked. Because I love you so much. I wish you loved yourself the way I love you.”

            You’re floored.

            You don’t know what to say. He’s told you so much – and it’s all made sense. There’s really not much _for_ you to say. You shrug a little and then bite your bottom lip.

            “That might take some work,” you say hoarsely. You don’t know how easily you can forgive yourself.

            “That’s okay,” Mizuki says. “Take your time. Because even when you hate yourself, I love you.”

            You’re silent. Nothing has ever meant more to you in your entire life. Not even the first time Mizuki said he loved you. Maybe not even hugging Emmerich for the first time. He loves you, even when you hate yourself. But he wants you to love yourself as much as he loves you. You take a deep breath. Fuck.

            “Do you ever hate yourself?” you ask him. He doesn’t skip a beat.

            “All the time. But I’m working on it.”

            “Why?” you ask breathlessly. “Why would you hate yourself?”

            “What, does that shock you?”

            “Yes,” you say. “You’re amazing. Why would you hate yourself?”

            Mizuki smiles.

            “That’s what I’ve been trying to say to _you_ this whole time.”

            You roll your eyes.

            “Look, Mizuki, I’m not perfect,” you say sarcastically, echoing the serious words he once told you. “You _have_ to stop idolizing me.”

            “You fucker,” Mizuki laughs. It’s the first time you’ve heard him genuinely laugh in so long that your heart skips a beat. “You get it though, right? You understand what I’m saying?”

            You close your eyes and nod.

            “I understand.”

            “Good,” he says. “We can work on it together.”

            You don’t reply because you’re too captivated by his smile. You’ve never realized how wearisome it must be to see the person you love not love themselves. You’ve never realized that you didn’t love yourself. You didn’t consider it hatred so much as you considered it apathy – you didn’t care if you lived or died. But you suppose apathy is just as bad as hatred to someone who loves you, and wanting to live for Mizuki, for Emmerich, for all the things you get to do with them is probably a good first step.

            “So… did you leave because of me?” Mizuki asks suddenly, interrupting your thoughts. He seems worried, but like he’s trying to hide it. A nervous smile, but darting eyes, trying to read you. You shake your head.

            “No,” you say. “It was maybe the final push, but I didn’t leave because of you. I left because I wanted my little brother back.”

            “Because you felt like he would help you stop hurting people?”

            Just a few moments ago, you might have thought so. But now you know better.

            “At first, maybe. But mostly, he just helps me stop hurting myself.”

            Mizuki grins.

            “I’m glad you’re around people who love you,” he says. You roll your eyes again.

            “Yeah, well, you are too, right?” you ask. “Is Koujaku still there?”

            “Yeah,” he nods. “He won’t leave me alone, actually. He’s about to start showering with me, I’m pretty sure.”

            “Tell him to back off my piece,” you say sincerely, your voice low and angry. Mizuki laughs.

            “I think if he wanted me, he would have made his move a long time ago.”

            “Gross,” you gag. “I don’t like this topic anymore. Move on. New subject.”

            “Okay, fine, what do you want to talk about?”

            You hardly waste any time. You just blurt it out:

            “What did you do after I left?” There’s a silence after you ask it. He’s watching you almost in shock. “What happened… with everything?”

            “Oh,” he breathes, looking away to gather his thoughts. “Well… there really wasn’t much _to_ happen. The island pretty much knows Virus and Trip were Morphine now. Word spreads. I mean, we started spreading it, so if anyone ever sees them again, hopefully they’ll beat the shit out of them.”

            “Hopefully they’ll kill them,” you say. Mizuki rolls his eyes up in a silent agreement.

            “I mean… I broke down,” he says eventually. “Like, what else was there to do? You’d left, and it just brought up all the old guilt. That’s why I hate myself so much. I can’t change anything, I can’t take back what I did to Dry Juice. But the guilt is still there. And not once did I think of you. But in a good way. I never once blamed you for anything. That’s what I meant, when I said not everything was about you. That’s all I meant – ”

            “I know what you meant,” you nod. Mizuki smiles at you.

            “Well… everyone knows now. Little bits of memories come back to me now and then. It’s easier to remember things when I can put Virus and Trip in the situation. I don’t know. I wish I didn’t remember anything.”

            “You’re too strong for your own good,” you tell him. He rolls his eyes.

            “Shut up.”

            “No,” you say. “I’m not saying that to idolize you. I’m fucking serious. You survived more than most people ever would. Mentally. You have a really fucking strong mind.”

            “Shut _up_ ,” he repeats, which makes you kind of angry.

            “Don’t I get to admire it?” you ask. “I won’t idolize it. But if you get to tell me why you love me, then I should get to do the same.”

            He takes a breath and looks away.

            “Okay,” he says. “You’re right. Sorry.”

            “Good. So… keep going. I love you.”

            “I love you, too,” he laughs. “But there’s not much else to say. People are aware. There’s just not anything to do. It’s good to know but… not much left to do. Honestly, I’m just tired after it all. I’m so tired. I want things to go back to normal. When I first got out of the hospital, I wanted things to go back to normal and I thought they had. But then they got fucked up again.”

            “When you met me,” you say with a grin.

            “In a good way,” he assures you. “But then – all I’m going to do is focus on getting better again. Because there’s no reason to focus on Morphine anymore. I guess I just want to stop – hating myself.”

            You’re about to answer but you hear the door open. Emmerich’s home from work.

            “Kristian!” he shouts from the other room. You hear plastic bags rustling. “I have food!”

            “Is that your brother?” Mizuki asks, straining to see. You roll your eyes.

            “Yes, how do expect you’ll be able to see him like that?” you ask. He pouts.

            “I want to know what he looks like.”

            “Imagine me with dark eyes and freckles,” you say. “And weirdly fancy hair.”

            “Mm,” he hums. “I’m imagining it. I like it.”          

            “Gross,” you say. “That’s my brother. Stop it.”

            “I’ll let you go,” he says. You shake your head.

            “We’re in the middle of a conversation.”

            “No, I was done. And I’m really tired. Koujaku is going to be out of the shower soon and try to get me to talk about my feelings. I want you to spend time with your brother.”

            You sigh loudly. You want to look at Mizuki some more. But you also want to be with Emmerich. You also would like to eat and Emmerich apparently has food.

            “I’ll call you tomorrow?” you ask. Mizuki nods.

            “But actually do it this time,” he says. “I was too nervous to call you when you said you would and didn’t. I didn’t want to bother you.”

            “I will,” you promise. “I’ll call the same time tomorrow. Or I’ll message you if I can’t.”

            “Okay,” he nods, just as Emmerich shows up in the doorway. When he notices you’re on your Coil, he backs up apologetically.

            “Bye,” you say. Mizuki nods and hangs up, and you look up at your brother.

            “Sorry, did I interrupt?” he asks. “You didn’t have to hang up!”

            “It’s fine,” you tell him, putting the Coil on your wrist and sitting back in bed. “He had to go to bed anyway. What food did you bring?”

            “Who was it?” Emmerich asks, completely bypassing your question. You stare at him blankly.

            “No one,” you say. “Did you bring dinner?”

            “Was it the guy?” he asks. “The _friend_?”

            You sigh.

            “Yes,” you tell him. “It was the _friend_. Can we eat something?”

            “I want to see him.”

            “What?”

            “I want to see what he looks like!” he shouts. “I’m not stupid, you obviously have strong feelings about him.”

            You shake your head at him. You don’t want to get into this, but maybe acquiescing will make him leave you alone and get food in your stomach faster. You bring up your Coil screen and swipe through to your photos. You have to pass up almost a hundred selfies of you and Emmerich first, but then you find a good picture of Mizuki and Koujaku, standing outside of Black Needle smoking. Mizuki is wearing his leather pants and studded jacket and his grin is large. It’s large because he’s laughing at Koujaku, who’s getting clotheslined in the stomach by another Rib member. This is actually your favorite picture.

            “Here,” you say, leaning over and swiping your screen to him. Emmerich squints.

            “Which one?” he asks. “Not the dumbass getting punched?”

            You smirk.

            “No, the one in the leather,” you tell him. Emmerich studies him for a moment and then pulls away.

            He looks almost disgusted. You stare at him, dumbfounded.

            “Him?” he asks. “The one in the leather? With the tattoos on his face?”

            Your heart starts to race. What? What the fuck is he saying? He hasn’t mentioned the piercings in your face once, but he has a problem with Mizuki? Have your parents gotten to him? You’re aware that _they’d_ despise Mizuki, probably call him a dirty street urchin, and maybe that’s part of his physical appeal to you, but Emmerich?

            “Yeah,” you nod aggressively. “Is there a problem?”

            “He’s like – eight levels out of your league.”

            “…What?”

            “How the _fuck_ did you get someone that hot?”

            His sentence washes over you and your anxiety melts away. Then you’re simply angry.

            “Oh, fuck off,” you tell him, pushing past him with your shoulder as he laughs from his gut. “Make me dinner. And shut the fuck up. _He_ thinks I’m hot.”

            “Then he’d probably think _I’m_ hot too, since we look alike.”

            You turn around and pull his tie so hard that he stumbles forward and ends up wrestling you on the floor. Just like brothers do.

            He decides to go back to his apartment that night to grab some stuff, which leaves you with an hour to yourself again. You consider going down to the bar and trying another drink, but instead you start looking through pictures of Mizuki. You get to the roll of photos you both took the night you were feeling appreciative of each other’s bodies. After you had taken a slew of pictures of Mizuki, each in a further state of undress, he sidled into your lap and gripped your shoulders, pulled your ear to his lips and whispered, _“Think of me when you jerk off. I’m sure going to be thinking of you.”_

            You come harder at the thought of Mizuki getting off to you than you do to the actual pictures themselves. And then you take a nice, pink bubble bath.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> koujaku knows in complete sincerity that he would murder ryuuhou in cold blood, so what's the harm in adding two more to that list?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a short Koujaku POV chapter, ssssoooo to make up for the length, ive written [a short mizunoiz pwp](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3914251) too ;)
> 
> also yo consider revisiting [this playlist](http://8tracks.com/truejaku/i-tremble-another-mizunoiz-fanmix), the last 5 tracks (there are 12 in all) are for Act III.......

            (Koujaku told Mizuki _everything_ –

            Almost.

            He rushed to his house the moment Noiz called. The minute Noiz told him that he was going to Germany, Koujaku gave up on him. He was finished with Noiz. He wasn’t angry with him anymore; he was simply done. He had a best friend on the verge of another breakdown, and Noiz was fucking off back to Europe. Fine. Whatever. He didn’t even necessarily want to see him go, but if he wanted to leave, then Koujaku was going to let him. He didn’t worry about it. He didn’t care anymore.

            Mizuki was a crying wreck when he found him. He’d already broken plenty of his own possessions – Mizuki tended to do that when he got angry. And Mizuki was often angry, which might be why Koujaku always got along with him. He was angry and he was _definitely_ violent, something Koujaku recognized they both were trying to fix within themselves, but it still got the best of Mizuki when he was especially emotional. Koujaku had to hold him in his arms, rocking him back and forth on the floor, petting his hair and whispering into his ear that it would be okay, like they were in some fucking melodrama. Koujaku always knew those shitty movies that Mizuki liked to watch would rot his brain.

            He’d sobbed about Dry Juice first, that he still felt the guilt of what he did to them on his shoulders every day, that he still couldn’t believe his weaknesses got a hold of him that easily, that he still hated himself for hurting so many people. He tried to sit up and break more things and rammed his elbow into Koujaku’s stomach when he wouldn’t let him. Then he slumped back into crying and apologizing as Koujaku tried to comfort him. He tried to remind him that it wouldn’t help to feel this way, but that only made Mizuki cry louder, only made him pound his fists against the floor harder. Then he’d moaned that he didn’t want Noiz to leave him too, and that was the arrow through Koujaku’s heart.

            His best friend was torn to pieces. He couldn’t stand that Mizuki was this hurt over things that he deservedly felt terrible about; to see Noiz top it all off was what made Koujaku start crying, too. Not for himself, but for Mizuki. He hated it. He just wanted Mizuki to be better. He just wanted Mizuki to move on from what happened with Dry Juice, since he understood why he felt guilt over it. He didn’t deserve to feel any remorse over Noiz, but he did. Mizuki was an angry, _violent_ person, but he was a _good_ person. And he didn’t deserve to feel shitty about someone like Noiz.

            He’d helped him to bed that night. He’d bandaged his neck because Mizuki couldn’t stand the sight of it – Koujaku had long warned him not to look at it every day, but Mizuki insisted he could handle it. Koujaku was more than happy to cover it up. Mizuki was strong, but he didn’t need constant reminders of his past right then. Koujaku made him dinner and cuddled with him in his bed, just to give him human touch that he admitted he was missing from Noiz. Koujaku didn’t mind. Koujaku understood completely. He just needed to be touched.

            Koujaku woke up the next morning to see Mizuki at his bedroom window, sketching the sparrow outside. It took him a few moments to realize that it was Beni, who was singing as he danced along the windowsill, allowing Mizuki to study him with a piece of charcoal. Koujaku rose from the bed and padded over to them, peering over Mizuki’s shoulder to look at the drawing. There were a few pages spread out on the floor, filled with sketches of Noiz, which Koujaku chose to ignore. Mizuki was mourning. And he was an artist. A mourning artist will make art, Koujaku assumed. He told Mizuki the drawing of Beni was beautiful and asked if he could have it and Mizuki looked up at him, his grin bright and beautiful as he nodded.

            Mizuki’s smile was deafening.

            Koujaku told Mizuki _everything_ –

            Almost.

            He wouldn’t have; he would have waited a few more days, if only his best friend wasn’t so enchanting when he beamed at him. He wasn’t attracted to him, not sexually at least. He was only astounded that the day before, Mizuki pounded his fists against his wall and cried out for his mother (a mother he never even knew), yet here he was, able to smile up at him now. Mizuki was truly the strongest person Koujaku knew. He was inspiring.

            He told him that he’d been with Trip. He told him that he’d been having increasingly personal visits with him for the past few months now, that he’d talked to him about their friendship, and that he’d known about Noiz and him long before Mizuki did, but had kept it to himself. He told him that he didn’t exactly blame himself, but he still felt terrible, that he kept telling himself that jerking off against the wall with him was simply “working out his issues,” and it calmed him when Mizuki laughed at the story. Mizuki knew that Koujaku had been having trouble with his sexuality so he understood how that sort of thing had happened. Koujaku smiled and shook his head. He was sorry, he was so, so sorry. Mizuki didn’t accept.

            He didn’t need to be sorry, so there was no need to accept the apology. Koujaku nodded. Still, Mizuki wanted to know – why did he talk to Trip about their friendship?

            “I thought I was losing you,” Koujaku finally admitted. “I thought I was losing you to Noiz, but also just – in general. I thought I was going to wake up one day and you weren’t going to be my best friend anymore.”

            “Koujaku,” Mizuki whispered breathlessly, his face etched with worry. “Why would you feel that way? Did I do something?”

            “After the Ryuuhou stuff, things were so hard,” he told him. “And – I still haven’t – even told you – everything.”

            Mizuki stood up, letting his sketchbook fall to the floor. The charcoal left a heavy mark on the carpet when Mizuki stepped on it accidentally, pushing himself upward to throw his arms around Koujaku. He hugged him tight. Koujaku wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

            “I didn’t know you felt that way,” he told him. “Koujaku, I don’t know what I’d do without you. Losing Noiz is hard enough but I don’t think I’d live through losing you. You’ve been there for me longer than anyone else ever has been. Especially Noiz. I need you.”

            Koujaku gripped his t-shirt tightly in his fist.

            “There’s so much you don’t know about me,” he said, closing his eyes tight to keep tears from coming. He shoved the thoughts of his mother away, like usual.

            “Then you’ll tell me when the time is right,” Mizuki said, his grasp still firm around Koujaku’s upper torso. “When you’re ready. And I’ll listen. Just like I did when you told me about Ryuuhou.”

            Koujaku let one tear fall and rocked his head against Mizuki’s.

            “Mizuki,” he whispered.

            “Yeah?”

            “I just want you to know…” Mizuki hummed curiously as Koujaku held his breath. “If I ever see Virus or Trip again…”

            Mizuki pulled away to look him in the eye. His mouth was open slightly, as if in shock.

            “Yeah?”

            “If I ever see Virus or Trip again,” Koujaku repeated, absolutely sure he wanted to say it: “I _will_ kill them.”

            Mizuki looked him in the eye and didn’t flinch. He didn’t smile. In fact, he looked blanker than ever before. Koujaku knew what that meant: it meant that Mizuki believed him. Mizuki knew he was gravely serious. And Koujaku knew he was too.

            “Okay,” Mizuki said, hugging him tight again. Koujaku sighed.

            “You’re my best friend,” he told him. Mizuki pinched him.

            “Okay,” he said. “This is getting a little cheesy.”

            “You’re a piece of shit.”

            “Takes one to know one.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so many people loved my friendship sake gourd story last week that i'll tell you another really quick one: we knew this OTHER guy in college who was like a 6-foot-4 air force guy who protected me with his life, he was like an older brother. but he was so goofy too, and we always kinda made fun of him for being a little dim-witted, although in reality he was EXTREMELY intelligent (once, someone off-handedly remarked that they were going to buy like, 12 dozen cookies bc they were so good and he very quickly replied, "wow, that's like... one hundred and forty-four cookies" and though it was a bizarre response, he's not wrong). so one time we were playing fuck the dealer, which is a drinking card game where everyone is supposed to take a drink when the players collectively have gathered all of one kind of card -- when everyone drinks, it's called a Social. so one time, we had three 4s, and this air force guy goes "ha HA, SOCIA -- oh wait, no not yet" and it's the kind of thing i want a drunk aoba to do while he's playing drinking games with dry juice and beni shigure.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the day that noiz will come to remember he felt like he'd grown up, if only because he passed on sex in order to make things right with someone he loved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't have a lot of time to look over this chapter again before posting it so i'm really sorry if there's any content warning that i've missed. i don't think there's anything to warn for though, other than discussions about bad sex stuff, like masochism and consent and being taken advantage of -- all in conversation though, not the act itself (this chapter was hella revised so i dont remember what i cut out and what i didn't but it was originally very heavy; i don't think it is quite so now but again i didn't have a lot of time to reread so pppffbbftt im sorry
> 
> gentle reminder that i wrote this fic before noiz's audio cd or mizuki's recode so it's canonically inaccurate and i'm aware but there wasn't much i could do, my apologies

            It’s Saturday evening and Emmerich is clenching your hand in his, yet again. It’s Saturday evening, almost a full week since you first arrived in Germany. It’s Saturday evening and you’re sitting on a king-sized bed, littered with blankets and stuffed animals and candy wrappers and your little brother, who you never thought you’d seen again.

            He’s watery-eyed and red-faced, staring you down as you try to recount all the important details of what happened to you in Midorijima. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You know that you’re the one who should be upset right now, but you can only think about how badly you’d like to never see Emmerich this distraught again but also how his distress only further proves how much he loves you (of course he loves you).

            You tell him about the girl you met when you first arrived, and how she seemed gorgeous and hilarious and intimidating, and how she slept with you so readily that you thought surely you were the lucky one in the situation. You tell him that she acted like she wanted to connect with you, like she wanted to relate to you and have a relationship with you, but that she kicked you out almost immediately after she came. You tell him that you’d told her about your condition because you didn’t realize that wasn’t something you should share with strangers yet. You thought you’d connect with her. You tell him that she bit you to hell before she never called you again. You remind him you were only fifteen.

            You tell him about the businessman. The businessman was the one who had a family – a wife and two sons, a coincidence that never really struck you until now. He was the only one who actually kept in touch with you, and that was simply because he’d come to Platinum Jail for business every so often and he _loved_ having you over. You were seventeen and you’d had plenty of sex partners between the girl you lost your virginity to and this guy, so you knew how to please him. You don’t tell Emmerich those details, of course, but he gets the idea. He treated you quite kindly though, you tell Emmerich as an afterthought. He’d buy you dinner and let you stay at his fancy hotel rooms for the duration of his visit. He’d give you baths you couldn’t feel and drinks you couldn’t consume, but he was nice.

            You tell him that back then you had no idea that all of this was adding up. Now you can look back and see what was happening, and of course you can. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. No one really understands the bad times _as_ they’re going through them, just like no one really knows they’re in the glory days _while_ they’re actually happening. You wonder if these past couple months have been bad times or the glory days. They sort of feel like both.

            Before Mizuki, your life was actually quite simple. You never had a death wish, but without any human connections, you never really understood the big hype about life. You’d come to accept that your parents had been correct: you were a monster and you hurt people and no one could ever love you. And now, you tell Emmerich, maybe one reason you felt apathetic as opposed to outright hating your life, was because something in the back of your head kept reminding you that there _was_ someone who had loved you all this time. (Emmerich has to hug you for two straight minutes after you tell him that before you can continue.)

            He asks when you met Mizuki and you smile. First, you tell him, that you met these other two guys. They were yakuza – you have to explain the yakuza to him briefly – and they were bad fucking news. Spoiler alert, you tell him, they’re the antagonists of the piece.

            You start to tell him about how you’d kind of known them before, that the yakuza were fairly involved in Rhyme and Rib and you’d explain it further but suffice to say, their reputation preceded them. It wasn’t until long after Rhyme had been overhauled following the demise of Toue that you’d really _met_ them, and then you stop. You don’t know how to explain this part. You don’t know how to tell Emmerich that their appeal to you was their complete and utter apathy for your well-being paired with their passionate interest in figuring you out, but in the worst way possible. You don’t know how to tell him about the sex without – telling him about the sex.

            You stare at the stuffed deer that Emmerich brought from his apartment. Emmerich the deer. He likes it to be on the bed with him at night, though sometimes you’ve woken up to see him hugging it. He doesn’t fall asleep that way, but he wakes up all too often with his face buried in its stomach. It looks fairly well taken care of and you wonder how long he’s actually had it.

            He digs his nails into your palm at your long pause. He knows you can’t feel him otherwise. You didn’t have to ask him to do that, he just knew. He remembered. You nod at his fingers and tell him that was why you liked them so much. They didn’t hesitate to hurt you.

            He pulls his hand back immediately. He stares at you in shock, as if you just accused _him_ of hurting you, as if you’d just compared him to them. You cock your head to the side and grab his hand again with a frustrated sigh. You weren’t blaming him. In fact, it wasn’t even true, but you can’t tell him the truth.

            You tell him that you’d asked them to, that they never did anything you didn’t like or want, and that makes him even more upset. He asks why you would have wanted something like that, and you have to stare at the deer again as you consider your answer. You shrug. Your eyes start to blink rapidly. They’re probably drying out.

            You tell him you don’t know. You were in a bad place, and you weren’t really thinking about anything that clearly. You’d left Germany – you’d left _him_ , you remind him – and you didn’t have any friends. You’d been so convinced that you couldn’t relate to people, and that you didn’t deserve to, so two people who didn’t seem to connect with anyone but each other were both fascinating and comforting to you. You welcomed them into your life because you were confused and didn’t care. You welcomed them into your life because you’d lost the only person who mattered to you anyway, so what did it matter anymore?

            He seems too tired to cry anymore. Good, because you are too. He asks what you did with them and you have to look away when you tell him that he already knows, he can assume, he probably has already figured it out. He covers his mouth and bites the tip of his finger nervously before he asks if they hurt you.

            You don’t reply. That still answers his question well enough. He lets out a long, mournful sigh.

            “They never did anything I didn’t ask them to,” you assure him. “It was all consensual.”

            “If it was consensual then it wouldn’t have hurt you.”

            “That’s not true,” you say, thinking back on the times with Mizuki that ended in little bruises and bite marks. They didn’t hurt. You loved looking at them the next day. Mizuki watched you, made sure he bit you just enough for you to feel it and then pulled back. He always made sure you weren’t in real pain. “You can be hurt during sex and consent to it.”

            “No you can’t.”

            “Yes,” you nod vigorously. “You can. I’ve done it.”

            “If you consent to it then it wouldn’t hurt,” he repeats.

            “What do you mean?” you ask.

            “Sex isn’t supposed to hurt.”

            “It can if you want it to.”

            “ _No,”_ he insists angrily. “There’s no reason for it to hurt!

            “What about masochists?” you say. “What about me? I can’t feel anything. I can’t even feel you hug me unless you dig your nails into my skin.”

            “What’s masochists?”

            You stare at your little brother dumbly.

            “You – don’t know what a masochist is?”

            “No?” He doesn’t seem particularly insecure about that fact either.

            “It doesn’t matter,” you say. “It’s someone who gets off sexually to pain.”

            “Ew, what?” he gasps. “What? How does that work?”

            You can’t help but laugh. You don’t remember a time in your life that you didn’t know most of this stuff. Of course, Mizuki taught you how to be healthy about a lot of it, but at least you understood what it was. Emmerich is so lucky to not know this. He’s never had to worry about it. It’s never come up for him.

            “It doesn’t matter,” you say again, waving your hand in the air. “The point is, you can do stuff like that and it can be agreed on beforehand.”

            “And you’ve done that?”

            You laugh again. He’s so insistent. He looks a little like Aoba, when he was determined about something. A little angry and a little adamant.

            “Yeah,” you tell him. He folds his arms.

            “And that’s what you did with them?”

            “Well – no,” you admit. “I guess – it was okay, though.”

            “How?”

            Now that he’s pressing you and you really think about it, you’re not entirely sure. You’re not sure how it was okay and you’re not sure how it was consensual. You thought this before, in the moment, that you didn’t like it when Trip tied you to the bed and when they edged you until you were in tears. That you hadn’t put that on your _list_ with them – you never even _had_ a list with them.

            Emmerich doesn’t know what a masochist is, but he does know that what Virus and Trip did wasn’t ever consensual. He doesn’t know the first thing about what happened between you three, but he does know that it wasn’t something you wanted. Emmerich doesn’t mean sex shouldn’t hurt physically. He means mentally. He means emotionally.

            “I guess – it wasn’t really all that consensual,” you say. Before you can say much more, Emmerich’s arms are around your shoulders and he’s forcing your head into his chest. You grunt in surprise and hug him back. “It’s fine,” you say, your voice muffled by his sweatshirt. “It’s over now.” 

            “Where are they?” he asks. “Are they in Midorijima? I want to kill them.”

            “You’ll have to get in line,” you sigh. He pulls away and sits back on his feet, his knees bent in front of him.

            “What do you mean?”

            You wrinkle your nose. You reach up and start to finger your piercing as you try to explain it all to him. You tell him it’s going to take a while, and you have to start all the way back at the beginning. The beginning, that you’d already relayed to him at the restaurant that night, about Oval Tower and Toue and how it all really started in the first place.

            It was Mizuki. It all started with Mizuki, you tell him. You sort of smile, because that’s true for the story, and it’s also true for you. You were alive before Mizuki, but this newer, better part of your life didn’t start until you met Mizuki. So, you say, it all started with Mizuki, but this particular story ends a little worse for him than it does for you.

            You tell him about Aoba’s grandmother and Morphine and Dry Juice and that Mizuki had a tough childhood too, just like the both of you, and that the first time you ever realized you related to him was the best day of your life. You tell him that Mizuki was terrified of losing his makeshift family, his Rib team, and he was approached by Morphine members to assimilate and he agreed, because he thought it meant his family would grow and that he might avoid the harrowing fate so many Rib players had incurred on the island at the time. But it all went wrong and the day that you were doing security for the group at that warehouse, he was brainwashed when he held the knife to Tae’s throat. Emmerich stops you to tell you he doesn’t believe you, you’re making this up, this is from some Japanese movie. You rub your eyes and tell him you wish it were.

            You tell him that you didn’t actually get to see the whole thing go down because you were hacking the system elsewhere, but that now you’re actually glad you weren’t there for it. You didn’t know Mizuki then, and you probably wouldn’t have thought much of seeing him break like that at the time, but you know you wouldn’t be able to handle it now. You’re glad that it’s a memory you don’t have. He nods at you as if he understands the concept and something about that makes your heart twinge.

            You tell him that Mizuki was in the hospital for a year and in that time you fucked around, trying to find new ways to make money with Rhyme, which was lucrative enough, but you sure were glad for Mom and Dad’s credit cards (Emmerich tells you that they always denied knowing where you were, and it was obviously a filthy lie, but they got so terrifying when he asked that he stopped after a while and then _you_ have to hug him for a few moments). You continue on to tell him about Koujaku, the idiot who was getting gut-punched in the picture you showed him and he smiled. You tell him that even though he’s an idiot – and to be sure, he _is_ a _massive_ idiot – he really cares for Mizuki and he made sure he got better. He still makes sure he’s better, you tell him. Emmerich nods.

            And then you tell him about Mizuki.

            You tell him that you only _really_ met at Black Needle one night when he was crying. You’d only gone to start a fight with Koujaku but found him instead. You’d known him a while but you didn’t start getting to know him until then, when he offered you a free drink. You were sure there were strings attached but there never were (you leave out the part where you tried to suck his dick in his bathroom the night he cleaned you up after sex with Virus). You tell him that Mizuki was the first person who gave you a chance, who treated you like a normal human being, like someone he could be friends with. He was the first person since Emmerich himself that treated you well. Emmerich tears up and you tell him to stop.

            Mizuki was – _is_ , _is_ beautiful, and he took you on three dates. No, four dates. He took you to a field and looked at stars with you. He stole a cop car with you. He listened to music with you and watched movies with you and cooked food for you. He slept in the same bed as you and shared blankets with you. He put his cats on top of you while you were sleeping. He introduced you to Sake, his disabled cat, the cat you felt like you could relate to. He had gone through so much but he still was able to love you. He still was able to be vulnerable and open up and love you. And that’s when, you realize now, you started to change.

            Emmerich tells you it’s all so intense. He can’t believe he lived so much of his life without you. He tells you he would have been that person for you – minus the sex, of course – and you tell him you know that. That in fact, he _was_ that person, still, just in a different way. Then you tell him that you’re not done and he groans.

            It got worse, you tell him, when Mizuki decided he didn’t want a relationship. Not a monogamous one at least, so you kept fucking Virus and Trip because it was all too much and too confusing and you cared too much about someone so suddenly, when you’re whole life you were convinced you never could care about people. And Mizuki found out – and it was fine, until – Emmerich winces.

            The reason you came here was because you found out Virus and Trip were Morphine. Emmerich gasps, but it’s not a surprised kind of gasp, it’s not the kind of breath that people suck in at the twist of a movie. It’s the sick, horrified grunt people make in real life, when the shitty thing that’s happened has happened to _them_ and they’re not even fucking surprised. You nod grimly and tell him it was Virus and Trip who kidnapped and brainwashed Mizuki and it was _you_ they told. It was you that had to tell Mizuki and you couldn’t handle it. You got in a fight. A really big fight. And you left.

            And now you’re here.

            Now you’re on the bed with Emmerich, holding his stuffed deer named after himself. For all the shitty things that happened, at least you have Emmerich again.

            “I don’t know what to say,” he tells you. You nod at him.

            “There’s really not anything to say,” you shrug. “He and I are still talking. I’m going to call him soon. He’s always out late on Saturdays.”

            “Do you love him?”

            You roll your eyes.

            “Shut up.”

            “Do you?”

            “Of course. Shut up.”

            “Hm…” he smiles, laying down on his elbow and propping his head up with his hand. “Tell me about him.”

            “What do you want to know?” you mumble. You don’t want to admit that it excites you to get to talk about him. You’re not sure you’re keeping a very cool cover, though.

            “What did he do that made you fall in love with him?”

            You wrench your eyes shut.

            “Emmerich,” you groan.

            “Tell me!” he shouts, leaning forward and pushing your shoulder hard.

            “I already told you!” you whine. “He was nice to me. Shut up.”

            “Alright, alright,” he says, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Tell me… why did you relate to him?”

            “Because,” you shrug. “I already told you this, too. He had a hard childhood.”

            “I know,” he says plainly. “What happened?”

            You sigh and pick up the corner of the blanket to play with in your hands. This is an entirely new experience to you. Telling someone about another person. You’ve never _known_ enough people to have a conversation like this.

            “His… mother I think was… taken advantage of,” you tell him. “That’s the impression I got. She wasn’t exactly forced into anything, but – someone took advantage of her, got her pregnant, and then bailed.”

            “Fuck,” Emmerich breathes.

            “And I think it was just hard for her,” you continue. “She wasn’t from Japan, she was from the Philippines. So he’s half Filipino, half Japanese. And… all of that… um…” You stumble over your words. You’re not entirely sure of this part. He sort of glossed over it. “He was orphaned though, that’s the big thing. And he was just – on the streets as a kid for so long before he… was in an orphanage? I think? And then he was adopted.”

            Emmerich squints at you and you start to feel a little insecure. You know Mizuki. You really do. You just aren’t sure of the specifics.

            “He _was_ adopted though,” you assure him. “And then he got violent. And those parents abandoned him too… I think. I mean, they did. And… fuck.”

            “What do you mean he got violent?” Emmerich asks in concern. You know he’s just worried for you, worried that if you’ve been with other violent people before that maybe Mizuki is the same. He doesn’t actually _know_ Mizuki, after all and after hearing about how badly you thought you wanted Virus and Trip, he probably doesn’t like hearing that Mizuki was ever violent.

            But that’s not what you’re focused on right now.

            “I… don’t know,” you answer slowly as something else dawns on you. You realize you were a little preoccupied with your own problems for most of your stay in Midorijima.

            Fuck.

            You don’t really know that much about Mizuki.

            “I… He’s never been violent with me,” you tell him off-handedly. “He just had a tough childhood. When he was young. He’s actually told me he’s glad I didn’t know him then. It would have had to be leagues different. I’ve seen him get violent when he’s angry with other people. Like Virus and Trip. But never with me.”

            You’re talking so much. It’s so jarring, to speak this much. This is all so new to you, so bizarre, to have _conversations_ and _epiphanies_ and – _brothers_.

            “He’s never hurt you?” Emmerich asks. You swallow hard.

            “Fuck, _no_ ,” you tell him. “But we have a lot of stuff to work through, I guess.”

            Like sitting down and actually learning more about him, for one.

            “Hm,” Emmerich mulls it all over. He seems to accept your answer. “Well, he sounds like a good person. I hope you work things out.”

            “Me too,” you say. “He’s an amazing person. He’s so strong, I can’t believe it. He’s been broken so many times but he doesn’t even seem to realize it.”

            Emmerich smiles.

            “I’m sure he’s glad to have someone there for him.”

            “Hm,” you shrug. “He’s always had people. He didn’t need me.”

            “If he’s always had people then it sounds like he needs you even more,” Emmerich says casually. “He wouldn’t spend time fixing things with you if he didn’t want you more than other people.”

            You never thought of it that way. You take a deep breath.

            “He’s beautiful,” you say, your thoughts sort of getting away from you. “He listened to me talk all night about Mom and Dad. He had a nightmare – this awful night terror and he woke up and called me and I went over and ended up crying to _him_ about Dad. That was the first time I told him about my condition. He didn’t care. He let me ramble. And he didn’t interrupt me either. He actually waited to make sure I was done talking. He wasn’t just waiting for his turn. He was beautiful even when he cried.”

            “Hm,” Emmerich purrs. “I’m sure he didn’t feel that way, though.”

            You pause.

            “What do you mean?”

            Emmerich looks at you in surprise, like he wasn’t expecting to have to explain that.

            “Oh, just – I’m sure he’s lucky to have you there for things like that. He doesn’t need people to think he’s beautiful when he’s crying, you know. He needs someone to dry his tears.”

            Fuck.

            “Yeah…” you murmur, hoping he’ll continue.

            “Like, it doesn’t matter how strong he really is if he doesn’t feel that way himself, you know? He still needs someone to support him.”

            That is exactly what Mizuki said to you. You can’t just snap out of feeling a certain way just because you know you shouldn’t. He can’t just _be strong_ because he knows he can be. He needed you to cry to.

            That is exactly what went wrong that last night. He spoiled you. He spoiled you by listening to you, he listened to you so much that you didn’t realize you couldn’t expect that from him every time.

            He needed to cry and you didn’t let him.

            “Right,” you mutter to Emmerich. “Right. Exactly.”

            “There’s no easy way to segue all of this into dinner,” Emmerich sighs as he stands up, “but this has been a really intense conversation. Should I make food? We can keep talking. Or you can call Mizuki if you want while I do it.”

            You roll your eyes at your little brother. He acts so fucking mature sometimes you can’t stand it. He tosses you your Coil with a small smile just before he leaves, and you close the door behind him. You lie back on your bed and stare at your roll of pictures of Mizuki on your Coil. You have so many pictures of him. You have so many pictures of him and Koujaku and Dry Juice and Beni Shigure and you never thought you’d be here, looking back on memories of fun nights with friends. This was something that other people did, but never you. You got to hang out with your friend Mizuki almost every day and now you have pictures to prove it happened.

            He’s drunk in some of them, high in some of them – even naked in some of them. There’s a good chunk that you’ve stored in a secret album that you try not to look at unless you have a few minutes to yourself because they get you going every time. But then there are the ones of the both of you together, his arm slung around your shoulders, grinning so wide that his cheeks push his eyes closed. There are even some where he’s kissing you – you took a couple of them, he took a couple of them, and there’s one that Koujaku took and you remember it clearly: you’d started making out with him in Black Needle, crawled right into his lap to straddle him and grabbed his chin in your hands. You were going at it pretty heavily and Koujaku took a picture, a selfie in front of you, pretending to throw up. This one is actually your favorite. Proof that Mizuki liked to make out with you in public _and_ Koujaku looking ugly. The perfect storm.

            You need to call him. You need to, just because you said you would. You have a pretty fixed schedule with him now, and it’s time to call. But you also need to call him to apologize. You don’t think he’ll accept it, so maybe you won’t say the words, _“I’m sorry,”_ but you need him to know that you care. You need to ask him about his life. You need to be able to tell your little brother about him the way he’d be able to tell people about you. You won’t, not if he doesn’t want you to, but you want to know that you’d be able to. He listened to you for so long and you want to finally return the favor.

            You swipe to your contacts and dial his number. The Coil buzzes as you set it down in front of you and wait. He picks up on the second ring. He’s in bed, as usual, but he looks a little sleepier than usual.

            “He-ey,” he drawls sensually, his eyes red and glossy. He’s had a good night. You grin.

            “Hey, drunkhead.”

            “I’m not drunk,” he says, setting his Coil down on his bed and sitting up and taking off his shirt. You swallow hard.

            “Tilt the Coil down,” you tell him. He flips you off and you chuckle.

            “I’m getting ready for bed,” he says, and his tone indicates that he is absolutely tipsy at the very least. He’s not out of it though, just having a good time. Maybe this isn’t the best night to ask him about his troubled childhood. Or maybe it’s the best night.

            “What are you doing?” he asks as he gets resettled in front of the camera.

            “Emmerich’s making dinner so I have some time to talk.”

            “You have time to do anything else?” he asks. His hand trails down his stomach but stops at his waistband. Oh, fuck. That is very enticing.

            “Can I ask you something first, really quick?” you ask.

            “Is it ‘Am I wearing a thong right now?’ Because yes.”

            Fuck. This is the _worst_ night to talk about your feelings. You blink slowly. You feel very strongly about this, you remind yourself. You want to know Mizuki. You want to feel secure in that you know Mizuki well. You want to fuck Mizuki, yes, but you always want to fuck Mizuki, so you try to ignore that for right now.

            “I really wanted to talk to you about something serious,” you say. You don’t expect him to nod so readily and take his hand away, but he does.

            “Sorry,” he says. “What?”

            You sort of regret it now, but you can go back to it later.

            “I was talking to Emmerich, and I just… I realized I don’t actually know that much about you,” you tell him. There’s a long silence. He frowns.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, I tried to tell him about – your stuff,” you mumble. “With your parents and your – other parents. I felt like I didn’t know anything.”

            “What did you tell him?”

            You sigh and look at the ceiling.

            “That your mother was taken advantage of and didn’t mean to get pregnant and left you,” you say bluntly. He nods. “To an orphanage?” He nods again. “And that you were adopted but then they – I don’t know. Gave you up?”

            “By the time I ran away, I was old enough to be on my own. They didn’t give _me_ up, they just gave up _on_ me.”

            You wince. You know Mizuki when he’s drunk, and he’s definitely not drunk. He’s so used to talking about this – he’s so resigned to this being how things were. He’s accepted his past and this was it. You hate how casual he is about it, but you suppose you’re sort of at the same point with your life, too. You understand.

            “That’s really the whole story?” you ask. “It just feels so bare.”

            “I don’t really think about the actual events anymore,” he says, turning away and messing with a quilt. “I just know how they make me feel.”

            “How do you feel?”

            He freezes. There’s a cat somewhere, you can tell that he’s staring at it and you hear a soft meow. Then a tail finds its way in front of the camera, but Mizuki brushes it aside. He looks annoyed.

            “Pissed off,” he says coldly. “Still pissed off. But it doesn’t matter because I have other people in my life now.”

            “You said you didn’t like to think of Dry Juice as your family,” you say. “You told me that a long time ago.”

            “Yeah, because then bad shit happens,” he says quickly, like he’s trying to get the conversation over with. “Like I hand them all over to Morphine. Why are we talking about this?” He turns to you and shakes his head so sharply his bangs quiver.

            “I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “I just felt like… I was so focused on myself the whole time I knew you. I felt bad. Like I didn’t know what to say to Emmerich. I’m sorry.”

            Mizuki softens immediately. He scratches the back of his head and stares at the cat, chewing the skin on his bottom lip. You watch him gather his thoughts as he takes a deep breath and sniffs loudly.

            “No… it’s fine,” he says. Then he sighs and sits up straight against the headboard. A quick image of his wrists bound to it flash through your mind but you get rid of it quickly. Shit, you’re kind of turned on. But you want to talk to him about this. “I was so young at the time that I don’t really remember the orphanage. Or else I’ve blocked it out. But I was very young. I really just don’t remember much.”

            “Oh,” you nod.

            “And… fuck. I mean. I appreciate that they tried. I do. I know they tried. I _do_ remember them trying with me. But I just… fuck. They fucking gave up on me. They gave up, just like my mother, and it still makes me angry. Everyone gives up on me.  There’s just not much more to it.”

            “Did they really?” you ask suddenly. He stares at you.

            “Did they really what?”

            “Did they really give up on you, or… is that just how you felt at the time because you were young. And angry. And now you still feel that way because you’ve never thought of it any other way.”

            He huffs at you with stitched eyebrows, then licks his lips and snaps at you:

            “The fuck does that mean? They _gave up on me_.” He’s not even angry with you – maybe a little frustrated, but you can tell he’s not angry with _you_.

            “I’m sorry,” you say again. “I didn’t mean to doubt you. It’s just – I’m dealing with being young and angry right now. And a lot of things I thought I knew aren’t true. And a lot of them are for the better.”

            He pauses. Then he scoffs and stares at you incredulously.

            “Well, shit,” he mutters. “If _you’re_ being the mature one here…”

            “I’m learning new things,” you tell him. “I’m trying to, at least.”

            He eyes you with amusement, a small smile spreading on his lips. You raise your eyebrows at him in curiosity.

            “A year ago you would have never said that,” he says. “You are so much different from when I first met you. You never used to speak, unless it was to insult me or hit on me or talk shit on Koujaku. Look at you now. Now you won’t shut up.”

            You smile.

            “Well, I found someone to talk to,” you tell him. Mizuki grins wider and then looks away to think for a moment.

            “Maybe… maybe I’m still just angry,” he says. “But they stopped worrying about me a long time ago so I don’t think it’s a big deal. I don’t worry about them.”

            “You don’t know that they don’t still think about you,” you tell him. “I spent way too long not calling Emmerich because I was terrified to find out he might not think about me anymore. But he did. A lot. You don’t know your adoptive parents aren’t the same.”

            “Yeah…” Mizuki breathes. This might be the first time you’ve convinced Mizuki of something. You love this feeling. “But I don’t really need to talk to them again.”

            “Sure,” you shrug. “You have a new family now.” Mizuki rolls his eyes. He stares up at the ceiling and you can tell he’s trying not to cry. He doesn’t like to call people his family. You understand why. So you’ll say it instead. You’re Mizuki’s family and he’s yours, whether he’ll admit it or not. “Anyway,” you continue. “What was that we were going to do before I brought us down?”

            Mizuki grins.

            “Isn’t Emmerich right there?” he asks. You sigh and throw your head against the pillow.

            “Yes,” you groan. Emmerich might be the only person in your entire life that you actually worry about walking in on you doing something lewd – which he might do, depending on how long you both take and what he’s making for dinner.

            “I’m gonna pass out anyway,” Mizuki tells you. “Can you get some time alone on Monday?”

            “I should be able to,” you say. “I’m dying right now, though.”

            “Me too,” he says, his eyes closing heavily. “I miss you.”

            “I miss you, too.”

            “I mean… I _miss_ you.”

            “That’s how I mean it, too,” you say painfully. “I want to touch you right now.”

            “Yeah?” he asks. He’s egging you on. You groan again.

            “I want to run my hand down your chest and pull your sweatpants down to suck your dick,” you say quietly, sitting up to lean toward the Coil so that you can lower your voice. He groans from the back of his throat and tilts his head back. His hips thrust up once and you’re sure your dick twitches.

            Then Emmerich calls you for dinner and you cover your face with your hands. Mizuki smirks.

            “Have a good dinner,” he says. “I’m going to go to seep… right after I jerk off.”

            “I hate you.”

            “Why? I’m going to be thinking about you.”

            You purse your lips together as he waves before he hangs up. You need a couple more seconds before you can go out into the kitchen. Once you do, Emmerich smirks at you like he knows what you’ve been saying.

            “Shut up,” you mutter. “You didn’t even know what a masochist was.”

            “Yeah, but I know a boner when I see it,” he says, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. You stare down at yourself in horror but, just as you thought, you aren’t hard. You kick him in the back of the knees and he throws an entire chicken breast at you. You both eat dinner while sitting on the kitchen floor that night, though you’re a little preoccupied thinking about what Mizuki’s doing at the moment. You dreaded Emmerich going back to work last week, but now you can’t wait for Monday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> character development: noiz passes up sex to talk about his feelings instead
> 
> sorry this is so late, i began my next novel today and started a fire in my kitchen and got carpal tunnel over the weekend so i've been really distracted. and in a wrist brace.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> noiz will come to remember this as the day that he realized just how chatty he gets when he loves someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **cw** for mizuki's asshole, talk of child abuse

            You take a deep breath through your nose. It’s six p.m. on a Tuesday and Emmerich is at a business dinner until at least ten. It’s one a.m. for Mizuki, which is nowhere near his bedtime. You just got back from the drug store, plastic bag in hand, and you think you’re getting a little nervous. You drop the bag on the bed and make yourself comfortable within the sheets. You take Emmerich – the deer, not the person – off and put him on the chair at the desk near the bed. Then you turn him around to face away from you. Then you take Emmerich the person’s eye mask off the bedside table and put it over Emmerich the deer’s eyes. You sit back in bed again and sigh loudly.

            Then you get up and take Emmerich the deer out to the couch in the living room. He shouldn’t witness this at all.

            Mizuki said to call as soon as you could, but you’re surprisingly nervous. You’ve been thinking about it all day, however, so you’re also incredibly desperate by now. You didn’t have time to get many “supplies,” so you’re going to have to get creative, but something tells you it’s not going to be a problem. You’ve only jerked off twice since you got here – you haven’t had a moment to. It wasn’t weighing on you until the night Mizuki suggested you do this the first time, and ever since then – three days ago – you’ve been dying to see him naked again. Or at least disheveled and horny, just like you. He’s waiting for you to call. You’re just so excited.

            First, you dump out the bag. Two kinds of lube, a box of condoms, and a soda. The condoms were to make it look more like you were having sex and not just sitting in your hotel room and masturbating. The soda is for later. Maybe. Maybe you’re so gross that you’ll shove it up your ass. Maybe you’re just that desperate for Mizuki’s dick. He doesn’t even need to start the dirty talk; you’re already doing it to yourself. _Maybe you’re just desperate for Mizuki’s dick, so desperate and so horny that you’ll shove anything up there to pretend it’s him, like the little slut you are_. _Maybe you’ll go out and find someone at a bar who looks just like him and ask them to fuck you until you’re coming all over yourself, saying Mizuki’s name instead of theirs. Maybe you’ll just sit here and fingerfuck yourself until you’re crying yourself to sleep. Are you that desperate?_

Yes. You are.

            You don’t have much, but you pull your laptop over from the desk and call him. It’s better to see him this way than through your Coils. The picture is clearer and it’s easier to adjust your positions. You know this from experience.

            He picks up immediately. All you can see is his torso between his chest and his upper thighs. He’s completely naked. You mean to say hello, but you only get one syllable out when you see how hard he is already.

            “Hey,” he breathes against the microphone. He backs up his bed and sits down on his feet with a smirk while you’re still totally dressed like the moron that you are.

            You immediately start to disrobe. You still haven’t said a word and he laughs.

            “I didn’t know we were gonna get started this quick,” you tell him. “It’s good. I like it. Hold on.” The first thing off is your belt, then your jeans and just as you start to finger the waistband of your briefs, Mizuki stops you.

            “Wait!”

            You look at him on the screen.

            “What?”

            “Go slower,” he tells you. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”

            “Oh yeah?” you ask, slipping your fingertips into your briefs slowly and grabbing your dick. “You have this all planned out already?”

            “Mhm,” he hums. “It involves you listening to every word I say and doing exactly what I tell you to do.”

            You groan. You miss Mizuki ordering you around in bed. You can’t believe he still wants to do this kind of thing with you. You lick your lips and nod.

            “Fine,” you say. He shakes his head.

            “I think you should call me ‘sir,’” he says. You laugh out of the corner of your mouth.

            “Fine.”

            “Oh,” he breathes, feigning anger. “You’re being bad because you know I can’t do anything over the camera. Rest assured, I’ll find a way to punish you.”

            You bite your lip at him and smirk. Your dick is already so hard in your hand, and Mizuki can’t tie you up this time to keep you away from it.

            “Maybe you should be the one to listen to me this time, then,” you tell him. You’re a little nervous saying it; Mizuki doesn’t like to be controlled in bed, but you wonder if that’s only physically. He said it was because of Morphine. You wonder: if he knows for certain that _he’s_ actually in control of himself, will he be more comfortable being told what to do? He does smile at you slowly, which is promising, and then leans toward the camera.

            “Okay,” he says quietly. “Maybe I will.”

            You breathe through your nose and stare at him. This is awesome. Mizuki listening to everything you say, doing everything you tell him to do. Nice. Very nice. This is so nice. You dig your nails into the base of your dick and pull at the piercing. This is so fucking awesome.

            “Are you going to actually say anything, then?” he asks. You take a breath. Oh, right.

            “Yeah, sit back,” you tell him. “You have lube?”

            “Of course.”

            “Spread your legs so I can see all of you. I want to watch you fuck yourself.”

            _You_ don’t have any toys, but Mizuki does. This has worked out perfectly.

            “Really?” he asks, genuine embarrassment in his voice. Your cock jumps. _Yes,_ you think. _Yes, really. And sound ashamed of it some more, because it sounds so fucking good on you, Mizuki._

            “Fuck. Yourself.”

            Mizuki lets out one, whiney breath and sits back against the pillow. You can see his balls between his legs but when he hesitates to open himself up, you start to worry. You lean into the camera, as if speaking closer to the microphone is anything like whispering in person.

            “Hey, do you want a safe word?” you ask. “We don’t have to do it this way.”

            Mizuki laughs.

            “No, I –” He takes a deep breath. You scoot back to see him better. “I was just going to ask which toy you wanted me to use.”

            “Oh,” you say dazedly.

            “But – I do want a safe word. ‘Curtain?’”

            “Sure,” you nod.

            “Okay, so… what should I use?”

            Finally, you get a pick of his toys. He always chooses which ones he’s going to use on you, but now you get to decide. You think it over for a moment, trying to remember everything of his you’ve seen. He uses vibrators on you because they make it easier for you to feel, but you sort of want to see him with one inside him, being forced to keep turning it down – or even off completely, just before orgasm. It sounds like he’ll be pretty quick to come too, just like you, but you’d like to see his face with a vibrator inside him regardless.

            “Well?”

            “That black vibrator,” you say. “I want you to fuck yourself with that.”

            Mizuki’s chest heaves upward as he takes a deep breath and then sits up and leans over the edge of his bed. You stare at his ass and the tattoos on the small of his back, stroking your dick still trapped in your underwear, as he fishes around for everything he needs. You relax against the headboard yourself and lower your briefs, shoving the condoms and the soda to the floor. You keep the lube, just in case, though you’re fairly positive you won’t need to finger yourself tonight to get off. You’re already close.

            Mizuki comes back, resituates himself in front of the camera and sits up, folding his muscled stomach in half to catch your eye in the camera.

            “You don’t want to see my face at all?” he asks.

            “Hm,” you think it over. You’d like to, but you always have trouble with people watching your expression when you’re embarrassed during sex. Maybe he’s the same way. “Nah. I just want your ass, this time.”

            He nods with a groan and doesn’t correct your use of the phrase _“this time” –_ that silent omission tells you there will be a next time, and you are going to use that against him, for sure.

            “Are you embarrassed, Mizuki?”

            “Yes,” he mumbles as he lies on his back and finally starts to spread his legs apart. You were going to keep talking, but you’ve never seen him like this before and your heart starts to race. You fist your dick even harder as you finally get to see Mizuki up close and vulnerable. He’s seen you like this, to be sure, but never the other way around. You never minded, but that’s a laugh now. Of course you didn’t, because you didn’t know what you were missing.

            He pours some lube onto his fingers off-screen and then reaches down with one hand to pull his cheeks apart. You see his asshole for just a second before he covers it with his hand, about to slip his finger in. You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

            “Wait,” you say. “Take your hand away.” He lifts both his hands up. You click your tongue again. “No, no, just the one. Actually, use both hands to spread your ass apart for me.”

            “ _Noiz_ ,” he whines. He has a safe word. Is he going to use it, or should you remind him, or –? You’ve never actually done this part before. You’ve topped, but you’ve never _dominated_.

            “S-safe word?” you ask.

            “No,” he moans. “I’m just –”

            “Embarrassed?”

            “ _Yes_.”

            “That’s the point,” you say with a grin, relieved to know he’s not too upset to do this. “Think of it as payback for all the times you embarrassed me.” He groans again. “Come on. I want to see all of you.”

            His fingers are dripping with lube when he finally pulls his cheeks apart again and lets you see his entire ass, entrance and all. You lick your lips yet again and can’t believe that you’re a billion fucking miles away. There are so many things you want to do to him right now, but all you can do is rip your piercings against your dick as you moan as loud as possible.

            “Make it wink at me.”

            “Noiz!” Mizuki shouts, sitting up and glaring at you. He’s not angry, he’s more laughing at you, which is fair. _Make it wink at me?_ You couldn’t think of anything else. It’s what the businessman used to say to you. It embarrassed you, but now you’re realizing that was probably only because you didn’t really want to be as on display as you were.

            “Lay back down and do what I just told you to do,” you say darkly. You’re still trying to feel this all out. You want to order him around, but you don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. “Or should I turn off the camera and finish myself alone?”

            “No!” he shouts, slowly lowering himself back down and sighing loudly.

            “Dude,” you say suddenly, a thought just occurring to you. “Is Sake there?”

            “He’s in the closet,” Mizuki says, his voice sounding dead, as if he’s given up. You laugh lightly.

            “Good,” you say. “I don’t want him to see the things I’m about to make you do to yourself.”

            “Noiz…”

            You sigh.

            “Just go slow,” you say, forgoing everything you just said. He seems _too_ embarrassed to do it, and you don’t want that. “Just… circle it… then start to open yourself. I want to see it all.”

            He seems a lot more willing to do that. You watch his pointer finger inching gradually for his hole, first circling it, exactly as you asked. He pokes near the bottom and then, slowly, _so slowly,_ starts to breach that ring of muscle. You inhale sharply. You hold your breath.

            “Ah…” he moans. His thighs twitch and he shivers slightly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve…”

            You let out all the air in your lungs.

            “Fucked yourself?” you ask. He squeaks and his body jumps forward.

            “Been fucked at all.”

            You roll your lips in and grimace in pleasure. He slides his first two fingers all the way in over the next few minutes and you have to stop touching yourself. You don’t want to come before he’s even started, but with all the whining and breathy moans and tiny mewls he’s letting out, you’re about to.

            “Are you – ready?” you ask. He chuckles.

            “Impatient?”

            “Did I say you could speak?”

            You stole that one from him. His groan gets caught in his throat and he shuts up. You watch him push his fingers apart inside of himself. His toes curl so much that they grip the sides of his computer and jostle the screen a bit. His waist pulls up and you can tell that he’s curling his fingertips against the insides of his ass, probably reaching for his prostate. He might have forgotten where he is at this point, he’s in so much pleasure, and you grip your dick again. You might not hold on. Fuck it. You don’t care anymore.

            “Mizuki, are you ready?” you ask desperately. “Fuck yourself. I want to watch you fuck yourself.”

            He grunts and pulls his fingers out quickly. His arms disappear as he grabs his vibrator and lubes it up as fast as he can, replacing his fingers with it. He pushes the tip of it against his open asshole and makes tiny, staccato breaths as he tries to take it as hurriedly as he can. He’s horny. He wants to fuck himself as much as you want to watch him fuck himself. You grip the laptop tight.

            “Yeah,” you exhale. “Turn it on.”

            “Already?”

            “I told you to turn it on. This doesn’t work as well if you don’t listen to me.”

            He presses the button on the base and you hear it immediately. It whirs to life, half-inside him, and his legs fly up.

            “Fuck!” he cries out, trying to push it further up quicker than you think he should.

            “Don’t hurt yourself,” you tell him. “This also doesn’t work as well if you’re hurt afterwards.”

            “That shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does,” he says breathlessly. You smile. A few months ago you wouldn’t have understood what he meant. But now you know he’s saying that not wanting your partner to get hurt during sex is what you’re _supposed_ to want: it’s baseline. Unfortunately, not everyone _does_ care about his safety, and the fact that you do is appealing.

            In all honesty, you feel the same way about him.

            You watch him fuck himself as he pulls on his balls and dick, the skin between them tugging back and forth. Neither of you say another word until you come on your own stomach just a few minutes before he does the same. You wish you could have held on and let him go first, but you suppose it’s not as big of a deal when you’re this many miles away. You both sit in silence as you try to catch your breath afterwards, until he tells you to hold on, and folds his laptop down so you can’t see much of anything but the keyboard. You can hear him cleaning himself up, so you do as well, though it takes him a fair bit longer than you. You sit in bed in clean pajamas and try to stop breathing so heavily. It was over so quick once it started, which is probably a testament to how long you both had gone without an orgasm.

            The last thing Mizuki does before he comes back is let Sake out of the closet. You smile at him, a little embarrassed yourself, but you’re not going to let him know that.

            “Feel better?” you ask. You can tell he tries to hide his face. He must be blushing.

            “Do _you_?”

            “Sure,” you nod. “How was that vibrator?”

            “Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. Then he perks up. “Not as nice as your actual dick would have been, probably.”

            “Hm,” you hum at him. That’s an interesting thought he’s just brought to the table. How could you fuck him from so far away? “Noted.”

            “What?”

            “I’ll keep it in mind.”

            “Keep what in mind?”

            “That you’d like to sit on my dick instead of some shitty vibrator.”

            He cocks his head to the side.

            “What does that mean?”

            You realize that he’s asking if you mean you’re coming back. That’s not what you meant. In fact, this is the first time you’ve really thought about how you’ll have to figure out what you’re doing – and soon. You frown.

            “I meant – I have an idea. You’ll see in a few days.”

            “Oh,” he nods. “Yeah. Okay.” It’s awkward a few seconds, then: “So where was Emmerich? He didn’t hear all that did he?”

            “No. He’s at a business dinner.”

            “Ah,” Mizuki says. “Hm… yeah. With… your dad?” You nod grimly at the bed, unable to look him in the eye for some reason. He seems to pick up on it and changes the subject slightly. “I’m glad you get to be with your brother, though. This might be a really important time for him.”

            “What do you mean?”

            He winces.

            “It just feels like you’re both going to have to start making tough choices. And I think it’s good that you’re there for each other.”

            “I think we’re going to have to start making tough choices _because_ we’re here for each other,” you tell him. “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t come back.”

            “None of it would have happened _until_ you came back,” he corrects. “It was going to have to happen eventually.”

            He’s right. You nod.

            “I guess I should thank you,” you tell him.

            “Why’s that?”

            “It wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gotten in a fight with you.”

            He rolls his eyes.

            “If it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else for you to fight with.”

            “No,” you say quickly. “Because I wouldn’t have cared about anyone else enough to want to fight.”

            He stares at you for a few moments. Then he shakes his head.

            “You’re a dumbass.”

            You grin.

            “Emmerich _is_ going to start making decisions though,” you tell him. “He can finally do whatever he wants.”

            “And what does he want?”

            You pause.

            You’re not sure. You’re not sure what Emmerich _wants_. Would it be self-centered to say he wants you? You know that’s true; he’s told you so. But – are you supposed to assume he was just being nice, or is that part of what Mizuki has been saying all this time? Love yourself enough to believe that other people do, too?

            “I don’t know,” you say. “I’m not sure he does, either. He says he loves me and he seems to want to be with me. I guess I believe that.”

            “Good,” Mizuki says firmly. “I’m sure your little brother wouldn’t lie to you about that after trying to keep you around in his hotel room. He wants to be with you.”

            That’s true. Mizuki is right. Of course Emmerich loves you.

            “Look,” Mizuki starts, then pauses. He doesn’t pick his sentence back up.

            “Yeah?”

            He still doesn’t answer right away. He’s looking at his own bed, playing with the quilt between his fingers. He doesn’t seem so sure of what he’s about to say. But when he finally puts the quilt down, it’s with a steady conviction. He looks you right in the eye:

            “ _Don’t_ let your parents know you’re there. _Don’t_ go back to them. Don’t let Emmerich go back either.”

            You know this. You know you shouldn’t. You know that Emmerich has implied they’ve been terrible to him ever since you left. Even more terrible than before.

            But –

            “What if they’ve changed?” you ask, less because you truly believe they have, and more because you want to exhaust your options. Mizuki’s lips thin out. “There’s a chance they’d want me back if they know I’m here now. And then we could be a family.”

            Mizuki doesn’t like that one bit. And you knew he wouldn’t; he doesn’t really care much for the term _family_ , and he doesn’t think too highly of blood relations. You know this. You just – want to question it. Devil's advocate, you think it's called.

            “Noiz, I don’t want to make you feel bad,” he says slowly, “but I really don’t think that’s going to happen. Even if they took you back, they’d be parents who _took their own son back._ What kind of parents have to do that? They’d be parents who let their family get into a state of _having_ to take their own son back, and they’d have you believe that, too, that they’re opening their arms and being so gracious and giving you a second chance even though really, you’re taking _them_ back. They’re parents who – did – they abused you. And they probably abused him. I really hope you can find a way to convince him of that.”

            You know he’s right. You know that everything he just said is absolutely correct. Of course your parents don’t love you.

            Because they’re shit.

            “I don’t think I need to,” you assure him. “I think he knows that. But it might be hard. He’s only ever known them and it just feels like they have a really firm grip on him. I would too, if I were them. But I don’t think it worked. He’s too smart for that.”

            Mizuki smiles and you can tell it’s at your character assessment of your little brother rather than that you’re telling him what he wants to hear. You smile a little too; Emmerich is the best little brother you could have asked for. You’re still livid that he never really got to be your little brother until now.

            “He didn’t deserve to be treated the way he was, either,” Mizuki says. “Just like you. He sounds like a smart kid but I think he’s lucky to have you there, too. Try to help him.”

            “Yeah,” you nod. “I’ll try. Because when you love someone, you don’t want to give up on them when they’re not getting what they deserve.” Mizuki winces just like you thought he would. He knows you’re referencing him. You’re referencing the way he yelled that night, because he was sick of watching you not love yourself. Before you can stop yourself, you say, “I still think of the way I made you cry that night. The big sob I heard when I was at the front door, the second to last time I saw you. I – that was the worst thing I’d ever heard in my entire life. I’d rather hear my dad screaming at me again than hear you cry ever again.”

            “Stop,” he says immediately, his voice breaking. He closes his eyes and turns away.

            “When you yelled at me that last night, I could only hear my dad.”

            “Noiz…”

            “He used to yell at me for hurting people,” you tell him. “In German, of course, but I definitely heard it enough to think I was born to hurt people.”

            Mizuki breathes deeply, his inhalation rippling.

            “There’s nothing I can do to take it back,” he says. “I can’t say sorry enough –”

            “But you’re not my dad,” you interrupt. “You never hurt me. And I never meant to hurt you. I know that. And I don’t hate myself for that anymore.”

            Neither of you cry that night. It feels like the first night without tears, and you’re grateful for that. You talk for another hour, about Koujaku and Aoba and Mink, and about Dry Juice’s monthly drinking competition at Black Needle – you missed it, and you’re sad. You loved watching overgrown men yell at each other over alcohol, especially when Koujaku gets involved. Mizuki yawns so much during a single sentence that you make him go to bed so he does, promising to message you tomorrow. You nod and then drift off yourself.

            You don’t hear Emmerich come in at midnight. You only wake up to see him fall into bed, still in his button up and tie.

            He takes the next morning off to nurse a hangover and you tell him not to worry, you have plenty of experience in this field. He asks you why that is.

            “Mizuki has a bar in his tattoo parlor,” you say. “He drinks a _lot_.”

            “He does?”

            “Yeah,” you say, filling a bottle with water. “Sometimes it actually bothers me. But he’s never done anything bad. I just worry about his health.”

            “Hm,” Emmerich says, pulling himself to sit up in bed with a massive cringe.

            “It’s not a bad thing,” you say. “He just – anyway. Here.”

            You hand him the water bottle. He puts it to his lips and drinks as much as he can in one gulp, some of it spilling over and dribbling down his chin. Mizuki does that too. When Mizuki does it, it’s cute. When Emmerich does it, you roll your eyes.

            “Slob,” you mutter.

            “Dad can drink a lot too,” he says as you turn away to get him a vitamin tablet from the bathroom. “It’s hard to keep up.”

            “Is that why you’re like this now?” you ask coldly.

            “I get nervous,” he says. “Dad gave me my first big client. I’m trying to keep him happy.”

            Your shoulders clench as you hear those words, your fingers pausing to grasp the medicine cabinet angrily. _He’s trying to keep him happy._ You’re sure it’s not the same way you so often tried to keep businessmen happy, but the thought makes you clamp your teeth tight. Not to mention, he’s getting so drunk to do it that he’s this hungover. He shouldn’t be feeling this kind of pressure. You grab the medicine bottle and head back out.

            “What do you mean you’re trying to keep him happy?”

            “Entertained,” he says nonchalantly. It’s nonchalant enough that you believe him, but it still doesn’t sit well with you. “Like we’re friends enough that he wants to do business with us.”

            “He’s not your friend, though,” you say. Emmerich reaches out for the bottle.

            “Well, no. But you have to make him think you want to be his friend.”

            You don’t hand it to him.

            “Why?” you ask. “You want to do business with him. Not hang out with him.”

            He puts his hand down and stares at you with concern.

            “Kristian, what’s wrong?”

            “Leave.”

            Emmerich blinks at you.

            “Leave...?”

            “Dad. Leave the company. Who cares? Leave them.”

            He nods his head to the side slowly and smiles like you must be joking.

            “I can’t just leave,” he says.

            “You wanted to the other day.”

            “It’s not that easy.”

            “Of course not,” you tell him. “Leaving Midorijima wasn’t easy either, but it’s what I had to do.”

            His eyes widen. That seems to have gotten to him. He feels around the sheets in a panic and you rush toward him, handing him the bottle.

            “No,” he says, waving you away. “I don’t want that. Where’s Emmerich?”

            You put the bottle on the bedside table and go into the living room to pick up the stuffed deer from the couch. You bring him back in and take the eye mask off him before you hand him to Emmerich.

            “Wh – why was he out there?” he asks, pointing at the eye mask.

            “I – didn’t want him to see…” You pause. Weren’t you just having a serious conversation?

            “See what?”

            You frown.

            “Shut up, we were talking about Dad. Come on.” 

            He forgets all about the eye mask and hugs Emmerich to his chest tightly. He stares at the mirror across from the bed.

            “I – I know I should,” he says. “But it would be hard.”

            “I know,” you tell him, relieved as all hell that he’s so receptive. You quickly take a seat next to him on the bed and grab his hand.

            “It would involve… so much. So much more than you coming back here from Midorijima.”

            You nod. That’s fair. It would. But Emmerich might agree to leave your dad and this life behind, and that’s all you care about right now.

            “What would you need?” you ask. “I’m here to help you.”

            “Well – do we tell them you’re here? Do you talk to them? What am I leaving? If I leave the company, am I cut off from the family – I mean, yes, I know I am. They said I didn’t have to take over the business if I didn’t want to, but then I’d be cut off from the money. How would I leave? How would I make money? I haven’t been to university yet. I could still go, but – does Midorijima have any universities?”

            You want to let him talk. There are too many unanswerable questions right now anyway, and you never felt better than when Mizuki would sit back and simply listen to you ramble. So you let Emmerich do the same.

            “I don’t think I could get another job,” he says. “Would we live together? You want to move here? Do I have to move to Midorijima? Do I have to move _anywhere_? I don’t know. I don’t know how any of this would work… what do you think?”

            You stare at your little brother with admiration. You’ve had a week to get to know him. He’s sort of a nervous kid, and you can only imagine that’s because your mother and father were incredibly strict. He doesn’t know things that seem banal to you – masochism, weed, fighting terms – but he _does_ know about certain adult concepts that are lost on you, like alcohol and manipulation tactics. He doesn’t manipulate you, but he does bemoan the fact that your father wants him to do it in business, and you wonder what kind of childhood they gave him for him to be this sheltered _and_ this jaded at the same time. At least you were apathetic about everything equally. He had to actually _live_ with your mother and father.

            He’s also sort of quick to judge, which doesn’t surprise you when you really think about it. He’s a good person, but he’ll turn away from a stranger on the street or cross the road when he sees a homeless man approaching. It’s the classism, you’re sure, that your mother and father instilled in him. These things concerned you when you first got to Midorijima, but they quickly subsided, as it was simply the norm. _You_ were homeless for about a month when you first got there. Emmerich is warm-hearted but he’s young and he has some things to learn – and unlearn, you think (of course, you suppose you do too). Still, at his base, he’s young and innocent; virginal, almost, and he's a child who hugs his stuffed deer to his chest when he’s anxious.

            Actually, you have something deeply in common with him: he can put on a big show in public, but when it comes down it, he’s just as scared of everything as you are.

            “Are these all things you _want_ to figure out?” you ask. “There’s no point in worrying about them if you want to stay where you are.”

            Emmerich looks at you helplessly.

            “I think so,” he whispers. “It’s – really overwhelming.”

            “I think we need to think about it,” you tell him. “You’re not just going to quit overnight. Can you handle going to work for the next few weeks, knowing I’m here, knowing you might quit?”

            He stares you blankly for a few more second. Then he nods firmly, his lips thin and determined. You smile.

            “Whatever you choose to do, you have to understand something. You have to know that you’re the reason I fell in love with Mizuki.”

            Emmerich frowns.

            “Excuse me?”

            “You’re the reason I was able to fall in love with him,” you say. “Because I knew it wasn’t impossible to love someone. And I knew it wasn’t crazy that they might love me back, no matter how bad I thought I didn’t deserve it. And I know now that I deserved it. And you do too.”

            Emmerich sighs and leans his head against you arm. You use your opposite hand to rub the space between his shoulder blades.

            “I’m too hungover for this shit,” he says. You turn off the light for him and he falls asleep with Emmerich the deer pressed between his cheek and the pillow. You go into the living room to message Mizuki:

            _“I love you. I talked to Emmerich about all that stuff we talked about last night and I just wanted to tell you I love you.”_

You lay on the couch listlessly as you wait for a reply. It comes, ten minutes later:

            _“Sorry. Koujaku stole my Coil and wouldn’t let me reply. I just got it back. Koujaku is face down in the futter. Futter. GUTTER. Sorry. Fuck. I wish you were here.”_

You smile to yourself. You wish you were there too, but then you hear Emmerich wake with a start, grunting loudly into the empty bedroom and then sigh as he falls back to sleep and you laugh. Where you are right now isn't so bad, either. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i drafted this on friday because my family is coming to visit me from opposite sides of the country to go to a renfaire and don't leave until late on monday (today, i guess, when you're reading this) and i hope that future annan (which is now past annan) beat somebody with a turkey leg and got drunk off mead and fucked a jouster


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noiz will come to think of this as the first day he ever had to make a real god damn choice in his life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **cw** talk of child abuse, alcohol consumption/being drunk??, sexual content. do i need to warn for sexual content? well spoiler alert there's sexual content LOL
> 
> [really intensely recommended listening,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdPqcfBgP_o) after Make You Better, i think this song is my biggest Mizunoiz song, ESPECIALLY for these chapters where they're apart. the video is a bit intense so just. let it play in one tab and [read the lyrics in another](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/travis/writingtoreachyou.html) so that the full mizunoiz effect isn't clouded. (there are no good videos for this song, though i did find one FILMED AT MY COLLEGE? so random)

            The line at the post office is long. You stand relaxed, however, your package pressed firmly between your arm and your side. You throw one foot in front of the other, propping it up on your toes, and stick your ass out to stretch towards the ropes forming an orderly line. Your box is small but the contents still slide around a bit. You should have added more padding. Too late now, though. Can’t open it here.

            The man at the counter stares at you as if he knows everything about you, as if he can see right through you. You smirk at him and hope he really can. You hand him Emmerich’s credit card when he tells you the astronomical amount of money to post this to Japan. It’s not actually that much, but you are newly penniless, so it definitely strikes a nerve. You make a note of what you owe your little brother – on top of already spending over a week at his hotel room, ordering room service and buying porn.

            He takes your package and you smile at him gratefully when the object moves around again. He glares at you still and you give him a small nod as you head out. They’re about to close. Emmerich is waiting for you outside. You’re going out to dinner tonight.

            “All done?” he asks, distracted by his Coil as you come out the door.

            “Yeah.”

            “What were you sending, anyway?”

            “A book.”

            “A book?” he asks. “What book?”

            “The Kama Sutra,” you mumble.

            “What?” He's still staring at his Coil. You’re not annoyed, but there’s no reason to ask you these things if he’s not going to actually listen.

            “I sent Mizuki,” you say slowly, waving your fingers in front of his screen, “the Kama Sutra.”

            “Why would you do that?” he asks, shouldering you away.

            “Because I like to have rough sex with him.”

            “But he’s not even here.”

            You groan and roll your eyes. You love your little brother, but he’s gotten too used to having you around.

            “You need to go back to being excited that I’m here,” you say, shoving your hands in your pockets and turning away. You’re in a sweater vest and an Oxford, the kind of thing you haven’t worn on a normal night since you were a child. Emmerich’s taking you to a nice restaurant and then, he said, a surprise afterwards. You know it’s only a bar, but it sounds like a fancy one. Maybe there will be prostitutes. You don’t know. But he’s very eager about it.

            “I _am_ excited that you’re here,” he says, finally swiping his Coil away and throwing his arm around you. He’s just a couple inches shorter than you but rocks up on his tiptoes anyway. His grip around your neck pulls you into him. “I was just checking to make sure we still had our reservation.”

            “At the restaurant?”

            “No,” he says, extricating himself from you. “We’re not going to the fancy place after all. Just the bar.”

            “Okay,” you shrug. “Where’s the bar?”

            “Not far,” he says, and he puts his arms around your waist in an emphatic hug as he starts to walk you down the sidewalk. You struggle to pull him off you, but he resists as long as he can. You only get half a block over by the time he finally detaches, and you spend the rest of the walk pushing him into the gutter and the street every time he gets too close. You don’t mind it at all, though; he just wants to touch, just like you did when you first got here. You still do, too, but you’ve discovered that fighting with your brother is something you’ve been missing out on your whole life, too. And Emmerich’s face when he realizes he’s lost is hilarious, all droopy-eyed and open-mouthed. You simply try not to push him into traffic.

            You turn a corner and find yourself on a street that seems a little more worn than the main roads of the city, and assume it’s just a few more blocks. Emmerich grabs your hand and pulls you into the street to cross, and then he walks you all the way down to the end of the sidewalk. Just when you think he’s going to turn the corner – there’s only a residential doorway here – he drags you into a tiny alcove. If he was Mizuki – or anyone else but you’re brother – you would think you were about to get lucky. But then he turns and grabs the handle of a door you would have missed completely. There’s a sign over it, but you don’t manage to read it before you’re pulled inside.

            It’s a smoky bar with a damp air hanging around it; the bar itself is long and stretches the entire length of the building, which is a lot bigger than you would have guessed. There are tables lining the entire proximity, but the ceiling is low, which makes it feel more cramped than it really is – maybe cramped is the wrong word. It’s more cozy, really; cozy, like –

            Mizuki’s apartment.

            Emmerich takes you near the back and sits you down at a small table, just at the edge of the bar. Everything is so brown and wooden but shellacked to hell and back, so it’s shiny and slippery, too. No one else is dressed nearly as nicely as you two are. You’re starting to wonder if the fancy dinner was ever a genuine plan, or if he just wanted you to dress like him so he wouldn’t be the only one to stick out.

            A woman at the end of the bar waves down at Emmerich and he waves back.

            “Where’s Jack?” he shouts to her. She’s older, probably in her forties. She looks like the kind of person who’s been coming here daily for – forty years.

            “Sick!” she shouts back with a wave. “Who’s this?”

            “This is my brother Kristian!” he tells her, and you’re immediately confused. Not at all uncomfortable, but – this is Emmerich’s friend. The bartender waves at him too, and you start to notice that everyone here seems to know him. Everyone here, in this dingy little bar that you feel you can hardly stand up in, seems to know your little brother, the high-class businessman who’s in line to take over his family business. The millionaire eighteen-year-old, all strawberry blond and well-dressed and handsome, who turns his nose up at the homeless, but is right at home in this dirty bar.

            You start to wonder how much of Emmerich is genuine. Not because you think he’s pretending to be something he isn’t, but more like what parts of him only exist because they’ve been – you shudder to think it even metaphorically – beaten into him over the years. He’s not sure he wants to leave his upper-crust life, but he already has in some ways, it seems.

            “Hey,” you say, interrupting his conversation with his friends to grab his arm and put your lips to his ear. “Why did you bring me here?”

            “What do you mean?” he asks. He seems hurt.

            “No, I’m just wondering why we came here. I thought you were going to take me somewhere nice?”

            “This place is nice.”

“I mean – a place we had to dress nice, like we are. Why are we here?”

“Because I know all the people here,” he says. “I’m trying to introduce you to them.”

            “Are they your friends?”

            He pauses and presses his lips together as he furrows his brows.

            “Well, I guess not _really_ ,” he says. “But I know them.”

            “How?”

            “Because – I come here a lot.”

            “Why?”

            “Because!” he shouts, pulling away from you. His eyes dart to the ceiling and then to the opposite wall and then back to the bar, where he smiles awkwardly and waves one finger up to the people to ask them to hold on a minute. “I come here a lot because Dad won’t. I brought you here because he definitely won’t see us here. I know the people here because I come here to get away from Dad.”

            You pull away and straighten your back. You study his face as he holds a small conversation with the people at the bar. It’s so genuine, his delight to be here and to be asking them about their weeks. He likes it here. You wonder how long he’s been coming here, when he’s only eighteen. You wonder how many other forty-year-olds he’s known. You wonder if this is his escape. If he stumbled in here one day when he was fifteen and angry and found a makeshift family away from your parents. You’d already left and he hated his private school, so he really had nobody – you realize you’re making up a story for him, that this is not something that’s really happened. Even so, you can’t help but notice –

            Emmerich is just like Mizuki.

            “Here,” he says, standing up and taking two shots from the bartender. He puts one down in front of you.

            “I don’t drink,” you tell him.

            “Oh – right,” he says. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

            “It’s fine,” you shake your head. You sort of want to lean into him but that feels awkward. It’s still been tough, trying to figure out how you’re supposed to touch your brother and how you’re not. You tap his arm lightly instead. “Have them both.”

            He does. He downs the shots, both at the same time – as easily as Mizuki – and slams them on the table – just like Mizuki does. He smacks his lips and then shakes his head at the bitterness. Mizuki doesn’t do that. Mizuki’s twenty-eight. He’s been drinking far longer than Emmerich. He doesn’t react to the taste like that anymore.

            “What was it?” you ask. Emmerich licks his lips.

            “Tequila.”

            “Do you ever drink amaretto?”

            “I don’t think I have,” he says dismissively. “Why? Do you want some?”

            “No,” you shake your head. “Just wondering.”

            He does another shot before you order dinner – bratwurst for you and a turkey burger for him – and then has two drinks with dinner. And two more shots. Plus his dessert drink – and two more shots.

            You’ve seen Mizuki drink. You’ve seen _Koujaku_ drink, who is even bigger than Mizuki. You’ve certainly seen them drink more than three drinks and five shots in a night. But Emmerich is sort of small and – you’re not sure if he’s muscular or not. He’s a little curvy, like Aoba, but Aoba has muscles too and you haven’t exactly stood around and studied Emmerich’s body. You’re not sure how much alcohol he can handle, but he doesn’t seem beyond the realms of sanity and functionality. He’s not seeing two of you yet, but he is definitely drunk. His words are slurring and he’s red in the face. He’s yelling at his friends at the bar and laughing louder than you’ve ever seen. He loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his shirt, pulling it away to fan himself off. He’s hot. Mizuki does that too when his body temperature has sky rocketed from the alcohol.

            “Maybe you should have some water?” you ask him with a small smile. He nods empathically.

            “Yeah,” he says, scooting his chair in so close to the table that your knees bump together. “I’ll get some later. Hey. Give me your Coil.”

            You hold your wrist out to him and rest your head in your other hand as he unwraps it with a bit of difficulty. You laugh lightly through your nose as he struggles, until he’s finally gotten it unlatched and slides it on next to his own. He pulls up the camera and you watch as he slaps the button and takes a picture of only the top portion of his head, just below his eyes and upward.

            “That was a bad picture.”

            “Hold on,” he mumbles. He pulls his wrist away and grabs you, clunking your heads together. “Smile.”

            You don’t.

            “I told you to smile!” he shouts. “Smile this time.”

            He takes another selfie. You still don’t smile.

            “I’m going to kill you,” he says angrily. “Smile!”

            Another picture. Still no smile. He glares at you and puts his wrist down.

            “What’s the point of having a brother if he isn’t happy to see me?”

            You know he’s joking, but it sort of stings.

            “Hey,” you say, pinching his ear. “Don’t say that.”

            “Ow!” he shouts, grabbing his injured ear. “Sorry! I just want you to smile!”

            “Okay,” you relent, and then take several pictures with him, trying to find a way to smile that doesn’t look ridiculous to you. He likes them all, and that makes you feel better, though you realize that’s because he doesn’t know that you haven’t smiled in years, so seeing it on yourself is sort of jarring. He thinks you’re simply smiling, like everyone does, but you’re really only smiling because you finally get to be an older brother and that’s one of the first things worth smiling about in a while.

            You have a roll of photos on your Coil now of you and your drunk little brother clinging to each other, arms slung over each other’s shoulders and cheeks pressed together in overly enthusiastic hugs. You send one to Mizuki. You can’t believe it’s only been a week and a half since you’ve gotten here and you and Emmerich have so seamlessly fallen into a relationship. It makes sense too, you suppose. You’re brothers. This is instinct. It’s been built into your DNA, to be there for each other, to love each other. It’s what brothers do and it’s what brothers are, and you’re family. Emmerich is your family. Your real, blood-related family. You look just like each other and you share something with each other that neither of you do with anyone else. It’s not _deeper_ than you and Mizuki, it’s just _different_. Sort of like when Mizuki told you that he and Koujaku were not _better_ than you and he, just different. You understand it now. You love Mizuki with all of your heart, but you and Emmerich are brothers. Finally. You’re finally brothers.

            “Hey,” Emmerich says, looping his arm through yours. “I want to meet Mizuki.”

            You let him stumble through your contacts and try to find Mizuki’s name. There aren’t many people in there so it shouldn’t be difficult, but he’s squinting by now and doesn’t speak Japanese, so you have to point it out to him. A screen pops up as it dials and you have to turn on the translator before you shrink out of frame.

            “Don’t let him know I’m here,” you tell him. Emmerich nods. He continues nodding as it rings and Mizuki finally picks up.

            “Hey,” he says, just before recoiling from the noise in the bar. “Whoa, where are you?”

            The translation pops up on the bottom of the screen. It’s a little off: _No. How are you?_

            “Mee-koopy!” Emmerich shouts at the top of his lungs. It sounds a little silly in his thicker accent. Also, he called him _Mee-koopy_ , so there’s that. The translation is lost on him. Mizuki shrinks away again and smiles.

            “Holy shit, are you drunk?”

            The translation says: _Saint shit, you’re drunk._

            “Yep,” Emmerich laughs. “I’m trashed.”

            Mizuki squints at the bottom of his screen. He’s only just realized the translation has been turned on.

            “Why are you speaking in German?”

            _Why they are in German speaking area?_

Emmerich doesn’t understand a word Mizuki is saying and has completely abandoned trying to read. You can’t stop laughing.

            “I love _beer_ ,” he says, mostly to the bartender and not Mizuki.

            “Where are you? Are you safe?”

            _Where are you? Are you sure?_

            Mizuki thinks he’s you. You have to cover your mouth to keep from laughing, though you’re fairly certain Mizuki wouldn’t be able to hear you if you did.

            “I’m at this bar my dad hates,” Emmerich slurs. Then he looks to the camera and stares Mizuki down. “I wanted to say hello to you.”

            Mizuki reads the translation. It must be inaccurate for him, too, because it seems like he’s trying to play it over in his head.

            “Oh, well… hello,” he laughs finally. “How are you going to get home? Is Emmerich there?”

            _Hello. Good oh. How are you at home and go? Do you have Emmerich?_

            “I’m right here!” Emmerich shrugs at him dumbly. Mizuki pauses. He cocks his head sideways and looks at Emmerich harshly.

            “Wait… Noiz?”

            _Wait… noise?_

            “Yes, I know, there’s a lot of noise. It’s a noisy place.”

            “Hold on, is this Noiz?”

            _Wait a minute. What’s the sound?_

            “I _know!_ There’s lots of noise!” Emmerich shouts, his eyes starting to droop. The alcohol is catching up with him.

            “Wait, this is Emmerich, isn’t it?” Mizuki gasps. “Holy shit… you look _exactly_ like your brother.”

            _Wait, that is, it was not Emmerich? Saint shit. They look exactly like your brother._

            “I’m first-name-redacted Emmerich Haass,” Emmerich says proudly, though you feel like there’s also some sarcasm in his voice. You cringe at your last name.

            “Wait – your name isn’t Emmerich?”

            _Wait. Your name is not Emmerich?_

            “No,” he says. “And Kristian isn’t my brother’s name, either.”

            You wince again. This has quickly gone from funny to a little nerve-wracking. You’ve never told Mizuki your real name. You’ve never really thought of your real name in a long time. Kristian is fine. Emmerich is fine. You hate them too, but they’re fine. They’re _not_ , however, your actual, legal first names. They’re not what your parents call you. And you much prefer _Noiz_ to either of those.

            Mizuki, however, seems completely floored. It’s like he’s witnessing the birth of his first-born or something; his face lights up with a smile and he raises his eyebrows. He stares at Emmerich lovingly.

            “Your brother’s name is Kristian?” he asks. _Is the name of the brother Christianity?_ Your heart skips a beat at how enamored he is with your middle name. He’s only ever known you as _Noiz_ and he’s never needed more than that. Maybe hearing your real name makes him feel closer to you. Or maybe he just likes putting a real name to your face. Whatever it is, it’s showing on his own face as clear as day, and he doesn’t realize that you can see it. You soak up the moment as much as you can, in case he never shows you this face himself.

            “No!” Emmerich shouts just then, interrupting your moment. “I just said it’s not! But we don’t use our first name so you can keep calling us Emmerich and Kristian.”

            “Okay,” Mizuki nods with a smile. He’s humoring him and you’re grateful. He knows exactly how to treat drunken people. Emmerich suddenly stands up and throws the Coil to you.

            “I have to piss.”

            You’re a little shocked that he’s up and gone so quickly. You weren’t planning on letting Mizuki know you were there. Mizuki is a bit surprised too.

            “Oh!” he says once he sees you. “I thought he had stolen your Coil.”

            “No,” you smile. “I was here the whole time.”

            “Ah,” he nods. “So – Kristian?”

            You roll your eyes.

            “It’s my middle name,” you explain. “Emmerich is his middle name, too. We’ve always called each other by our middle names.”

            “I like it,” Mizuki coos. “It suits you.”

            “Thanks.”

            “So what’s your first names?” he asks. You take a deep breath.

            “His name is Theo. Theo Emmerich. But we don’t use them because – it’s what our parents called us.”

            “Oh,” Mizuki croons sadly. He grimaces, as if he’s sorry that he didn’t realize that before. But then he asks: “And… what’s yours?”

            You lick your lips. You really want to tell him. You never thought you’d _want_ to tell someone your name. You never thought you’d know anyone who cared, and you never thought you’d trust anyone enough. But that face he made – he was so happy to hear your name. He was so happy to know you. There _are_ still things he doesn’t know about you, just like there are things – _important_ things – you don’t know about him. He doesn’t know your _name_ , for fuck’s sake. You take a deep breath:

            “Wilhelm.” You enunciate it slowly. You know it doesn’t exactly translate from German to Japanese. “My full name is Wilhelm Kristian Haass… the second.”

            Mizuki smiles dejectedly.

            “ _Vvv –_ ir – elm,” he tries to say. He can’t get it out exactly right. You think it’s sweet.

            “You got it.”

            “I’d laugh if you weren’t so obviously miserable about it,” he says. “I assume – the second…? You’re named after your dad?”

            You nod grimly and don’t look at him. He watches you sadly but then gives you a smile.

            “I’m glad you’re spending time with your brother though,” he says. He’s changing the subject. You’re grateful, even though he’s said this twice before. “I got your picture. You look really happy.”

            You think about the revelation you just had only about an hour ago, that Emmerich was looking for a new family just like Mizuki, that your little brother you never knew and the person you’ve fallen in love with are so similar. You wonder if it’s a coincidence or if it means something bigger. Maybe you’re attracted to these kinds of people. Maybe you’re not all broken, like you used to think. Maybe you’re all just – trying to make a family.

            “I talked to him about leaving the business,” you tell Mizuki.

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah… I think he wants to do it. He’s just scared and doesn’t know what he’ll do if he does. He hasn’t been to university. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get a job or how he’ll live with no money.”

            “He could come live with us,” Mizuki says. He’s not joking.

            “Yeah,” you nod. “I’ve thought about it. But that means that first I’d have to…”

            “Come home?”

            Your head snaps up.

            You stare at Mizuki.

            “Home?”

            “I mean,” Mizuki says quickly, embarrassed. “You know. Come back to Midorijima.”

            Mizuki thinks Midorijima is your home. There’s the whole cliché of home is where the heart is, home is where you’re with family and family doesn’t always mean blood, a house is not a home without a cat – you know all of those kitschy sayings. You’ve never thought that hard about any of them, though. You’re sort of astounded to realize that they’re true. Even the one about the cats.

            _Especially_ the one about the cats.

            “I don’t know,” you shrug.

            “Sure,” Mizuki nods. “I was just – wondering. If you’d given that any more thought.”

            “Given what any more thought?”

            “If you… were ever going to come back.”

            Your mouth goes dry. There’s really no reason that you’d _have_ to go back to Midorijima – except for Mizuki, of course. But he’s not your boyfriend. Neither of you are promised to each other in any way. The only other reason to go back would be for Rhyme, which isn’t entirely crazy to you since it _is_ still the one way you can feel, but ever since you’ve been with Mizuki, you’ve found that feeling him is far more preferable to feeling pain in Rhyme.

            “Why would I come back?” you ask him. You wish you weren’t in this fucking bar. It’s not so loud that you can’t hear him, but it would be a lot easier to have this conversation alone, where no one else could hear or see. Mizuki winces.

            “I was just asking,” he says with a shrug. You can tell he doesn’t truly feel as indifferent as he’s trying to put on.

            “If I came back for you, wouldn’t that – be a lot of pressure? On you?” you ask. “To make you feel like I’m only there because you are?”

            He stares at you. He has a sort of smile on his face, just at the corners, as if he’s trying to smile but can’t. You think his eyes might be watering but you can’t tell for certain. He’s trying to gain his composure before he responds, you can see that much. You hate making him feel like this, but he’s the one who pointed it out. Don’t live for other people. Live for yourself.

            “Sure, no, yeah,” he breathes finally. “I was just wondering if you’d given it any thought.”

            “Not really,” you say quickly, looking down at the table. There’s a loud slap on your back and you look up to see that Emmerich’s back. He takes his seat next to you and waves at Mizuki.

            “I’m back!” he shouts cheerfully. Mizuki laughs.

            “Well I was just about to hang up,” he says. “So you two can have a good night.”

            The translation scrolls across the bottom of the screen but you don’t look at it. You’re staring at Mizuki. You don’t want him to leave the screen. You never want him to leave. You never, _ever_ want to have to say goodbye to Mizuki. You’re a broken record but you can’t help it: there is nothing that you want more on this forsaken earth than to stare at Mizuki’s beautiful face all day long.

            Emmerich, of course, doesn’t feel the same.

            “It’s nice to meet you Mizuki!” he shouts cheerfully and you grit your teeth. You weren’t done with this conversation.

            “You have a package coming in the next few days,” you say sourly. Mizuki seems concerned by your tone but nods nonetheless and hangs up and you’re left with your little brother once again.

            “So what were you talking about?” he asks, lifting a beer bottle to his lips. When did he get that?

            “Nothing… Do you think you should have another drink?” you ask. “You’re pretty drunk already.”

            “It’s fine,” he waves you off. “You really miss Mizuki?”

            You sigh.

            “A little,” you lie. Emmerich leans into you and his red, watery eyes dart back and forth between yours.

            “Are you going to go back?”

            You sigh again. Why is everyone putting all this pressure on you right now?

            “I don’t know,” you mutter. “Stop drinking.” You swipe the beer away from him and he leans back in his chair, happy to let you drink it instead. You take one sip and retch. This shit is disgusting.

            “I’ve been thinking more about what to do,” he tells you. “About Mom and Dad and everything.”

            You perk up. This is helpful. Emmerich can make his decision first, and then you’ll just follow suit.

            “And?”

            He doesn’t answer right away. He stares out the window, his head wobbling back and forth in its drunkenness. A small, almost creepy smile spreads across his lips. It reminds you of Trip. He shakes his head a bit.

            “They tell me that everything they did… everything they _ever_ did, their whole lives, they did for me,” he says. You freeze. He’s talking about your parents. He’s never told you exactly what living with them was like. He’s never told you what they did to him. You don’t dare even breathe, lest you shake him from this almost trance. “They said that even before they got married, they did everything in their lives to make sure their children grew up well. Of course, I think by ‘well’ they meant rich and fed and with a bedroom. Not… you know. Happy and healthy.

            “They explained all the family finances to me. They said all the choices they made, they did so to ensure we’d be well cared for. Again, that translates to _rich_. They told me sometimes it was necessary to lose some money in order not to lose it all, and I never understood what that meant.” He finally turns to stare right at you. “But I do now. They never cancelled the credit card you stole because your being far away in Japan meant they didn’t have to deal with you. They didn’t mind paying for you to leave the family alone forever. And they told me you were gone and you weren’t ever coming back. And I didn’t believe them. But I pretended that I did. Because I knew that questioning it would make things worse for you, as well as me.”

            You don’t like this at all. You shake your head at him, only one question on your mind: how bad were they to him?

            “Did they ever hit you?” you blurt. Your father threw you around by your arm a few times. You can get over that, but you have no qualms with murdering him if he ever hit Emmerich.

            “Not really,” he says. “Mom slapped me a few times, but that feels normal. And it was mostly after I asked about you. Dad would grab my arm and squeeze really hard a lot, but that stopped after I turned fourteen or so.”

            You think you might throw up.

            “I never had any friends, though,” he says. “I knew people at school – I called them my friends, but they weren’t really. They sent me to a private school but wouldn’t let me live in the dormitories. I went to class, came home, and stayed with them all day. They didn’t let me do anything. The only things I ever got to do were events for the business with them. The operas and stuff like that.”

            You nod. It makes sense now, though you certainly already suspected it. He doesn’t know much about the real world, just like you didn’t when you first got to Midorijima. He’s been sheltered his whole life. He’s been neglected, too, only in a much different way. In a much more deliberate way. Your parents went to great lengths to make sure they neglected him. It’s sick. You reach out for his hand and he wraps his fingers tightly around yours.

            “They said if I didn’t realize that everything they ever did, they did for me, then I was an ungrateful brat. They said they locked you up to keep me safe. And if I didn’t recognize that, if I wasn’t grateful to them for everything they’d done, then I was just as bad as you were after all.”

            You swallow hard. You’re not surprised. They called him a monster, too.

            “And I cried about it every night,” he says. “It made me cry, but I didn’t really know why. I wasn’t crying that they called me a brat or anything. It was more just that I was confused.”

            “About what?” you ask, your own voice surprising you. His entire face softens.

            “I knew you weren’t bad,” he tells you. “You weren’t a monster. Being just like you didn’t bother me.”

            Your eyes definitely start to water.

            “I always wanted to be just like my big brother.”

            All your breath races out of your lungs as you lunge forward to hug Emmerich. He clings to you, his hands glued to your upper back, and you both breathe each other in, just for a moment, before you pull back and hold his face in your hands.

            “Please leave them. _Please_. I don’t know what we’ll do, but we’ll figure it out. _Please_ don’t let them rule your life anymore.”

            You never knew you could love someone this much. You never knew you could love someone enough to beg them like this. He looks at you wide-eyed for a moment, as if he’s just as thrown off by your uncharacteristic outbursts as you are. Then:

            “Okay.”

            You raise your eyebrows.

            “Yeah?” you ask. He nods.

            “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Yes. Yes, I’ll leave.”

            You hug him again.

            You were born unable to tell sensation on your skin. You were born without a sense of touch. You were _not_ born unable to feel. You have been _feeling_ since the day you were born, but you have only just now come to realize it. You hug your baby brother, who never deserved what he got, just like you. You hug him until you _feel_ satisfied that he knows you love him. You hug him until he pulls away, throws down some money, and stands up to go home with you. You both sit on the couch with your feet on the coffee table, watching movies and eating whatever junk food you can find. He drinks water until he sobers up a bit and passes out next to you. You carry him to bed and stick his stuffed deer in his arms. You give him the bed for the night and sleep on the couch, mostly because you’re too wired to sleep yet, so you sit on your laptop for a while, trying to keep yourself from messaging the other boy you love that nothing will ever change how you _feel_ about him.

            You were born unable to discern what would hurt others, because you never felt pain yourself. You thought that made you a monster, because that’s what your parents told you, and children believe their parents. You hated being locked away, but you were told that you deserved it, so you eventually accepted it. You missed your brother. You missed the outside. But you were supposed to be locked up in there, so you let it happen, until you couldn’t stand it anymore.

            You did not deserve that. Emmerich did not deserve it either. Bad things happened to you both, and you were separated your whole lives for it. It’s three a.m. when you finally drift off to sleep on the couch, having resolved within yourself that you are not going to let those things separate you any longer. You’re not going to let them come between you and your brother, or you and Mizuki, or you and yourself. Mizuki told you that he loves you, no matter how you feel about yourself and now you believe him. It’s okay to be weak sometimes – just like Mizuki is – it’s okay to feel that despair in the pit of your stomach. But it’s okay to love yourself. It’s okay to live. It’s okay to feel.

            Emmerich tells you in the morning that it’s going to take some planning. He’ll need about a week to look into what he can do after he’s quit, and where he can live. You want so badly to tell him to come to Midorijima, where your apartment is exactly as you’ve left it, but you realize quickly that you don’t have the money for that apartment anymore. You’ll both be completely broke. You’ll have nowhere to go. It’s times like these that people usually fall back on their families because families are always there for you. That’s what makes them your family. At first you feel hopeless because family is the only reason you’re in this mess in the first place – but then you realize that it’s quite the opposite: you’re actually already one step ahead.

            You already have your family.

            You tell him that’s fine and to take all the time he needs. This is going to take a while to plan and you’re willing to do anything to help. He hugs you before work and promises to be better behaved tonight. You smile and watch him leave.

            It’s two days later that Emmerich has another business dinner so Mizuki calls you from his bedroom, completely naked.

            “I got your package,” he says. He already has it inside himself, the dildo that you bought him and pierced yourself, to resemble your dick exactly. “I was wondering if you wanted to watch.”

            “What are you doing?” you ask when he starts to lower the camera.

            “I thought you’d want to watch my ass as you fuck me,” he breathes. You shake your head.

            “I’ve seen that,” you say. “I want to see your face this time.”

            He fucks himself so hard that you almost worry he’s overdoing it, but you can’t bring yourself to stop him because his face is so beautiful. His eyes are closed and his eyebrows slant as his mouth opens lazily to let out the most languid, dirty moans you’ve ever heard. He tells you things like, _“I’ve never had a pierced dick inside me before,” “Oh, fuck, Noiz, your dick is so good,” “I can feel them, rubbing around inside of me, oh_ fuck _they feel so good…”_

You both come so hard that night that you don’t speak for almost five full minutes afterwards. You just lay there, staring at each other through the camera, smiling in embarrassment every time you catch each other’s eyes. Mizuki blows you a kiss as a joke but you pretend to catch it in your hand. He rolls his eyes.

            “It’s like you’re really here when we lay like this,” he says. “Will you lay like this with me for a little longer?”

            “I’ll lay like this with you all night,” you tell him. To your surprise, he frowns. “What’s wrong?”

            “You can’t lay like this with me all night,” he says. “You have to hang up sometime.”

            He’s right and it’s an arrow through your heart. He’s upset because it’s not the same, looking at each other over the Coil, when you used to wake up next to each other every morning. You don’t have to hang up in real life. Emmerich comes home while you’re still staring at Mizuki longingly and asks if you want to come watch a movie with him. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You want to go watch a movie with Emmerich, yes. But you also want to stay here, with Mizuki. You have to decide: movie with Emmerich or staring at Mizuki?

            It’s the hardest choice you’ve ever had to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I HAVE SOME STUFF TO SAY AND IM EMBARRASSED BECAUSE ITS ALL STUPID AND DOESNT MATTER BUT OKAY SO 
> 
> i went to The Decemberists concert this weekend... and i heard... my mizunoiz songs in person and yes i cried at A Beginning Song (though that song is more about Oyster Sauce, which is my NEXT mizunoiz fic that i'll be doing AFTER THIS ONE) but i also got my Mizuki plush the day before so... i took him with me... to the concert... he got to listen to his own song with me live. i am 26 years old. but tbh the warm fuzzy feeling of having a character and a song that mean a lot to you never goes away so. anyway: here are some [pictures](http://t.co/MkmHXjOTFl) of me and koujaku and mizuki hanging out before the show. my twitter has more pics of them doing stuff too, as well as my f r e a k i n g o u t about the concert. anyway okay thats it. god damnit i love mizunoiz and the decemberists so much. wtf.
> 
> also the translator on the Coil thing was written in this chapter before it was in that Koutheo i wrote lmao


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> madjaku >o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major cw that i can think of this time
> 
> but i have a couple of fun things to say i'll wait til end notes though ok!!!!! this is the LAST KOUJAKU chapter!!!!! and after this one there's only two left................. and possibly............ one more major Event.................. o:

            (Koujaku is livid.

            He did _not_ finally get his best friend back just to see him go through _this_.

            He did not stay at his house, every day and every night, for two weeks, watching his every move, catching every tear that fell from his eye, making sure he had everything he needed, telling him every day the he loved him unequivocally and without question forever, just for him to end up like _this_.

            He thought he was okay with Noiz – at least, he thought he didn’t give a single shit about him anymore – but he was wrong. Even thousands of miles away, Noiz was still making his life Hell; still making _Mizuki’s_ life Hell.

            Koujaku knows how to deal with a drunk Mizuki. He knows how to deal with an angry Mizuki and a violent Mizuki. He knows how to deal with an upset Mizuki, but he doesn’t know what to do with a _depressed_ Mizuki. He’s never seen him _languish,_ never seen him quite this low for quite this long. He’s drinking every night and he’s late to Black Needle every morning. It doesn’t matter, of course, since he owns the place, but even Dry Juice is starting to notice. He’s _miserable_. He’s more than just moping; he’s broken-hearted and wrecked over Noiz. He keeps asking if Koujaku thinks Noiz will ever come back, and Koujaku never knows how to answer. It kills him to keep hearing it, to keep seeing him pull his head up from his arms and rub his teary eyes and whine, _“Do you think he thinks about me? Do you think he thinks about me as much as I think about him? Do you think he still wants to be with me?”_ At this point, Koujaku hopes he does come back, just so Mizuki can date him and realize what a shithead he is and stop feeling this broken up about him.

            He drags himself everywhere, he hardly has fun on the weekend and he doesn’t worry about Rib at all – which, again, isn’t _that_ big of a deal since the rest of Dry Juice has it covered, but at least before he was a _little_ interested. Koujaku threatened to beat him up and he put his chin up and told him to go for it, he didn’t care anymore, and Koujaku was sick to his stomach. He didn’t even want to spar. All he does is drink and cry and Koujaku knows it isn’t _serious_ ; he knows that Mizuki’s just _getting over_ Noiz, but he’s never seen him take a breakup this hard. He’d be hypocritical to tell him to get over himself – he’s had enough emotional outbursts the past few months himself – but it’s not easy for him to handle. It’s not easy to validate Mizuki’s feelings when he cares so little about Noiz himself, but he finally admits to Mizuki that he doesn’t hate Noiz so much because of anything he’s done recently, but because he’s the reason Mizuki feels this way. Noiz is the reason Koujaku has to see his best friend cry, and he doesn’t like it. Mizuki appreciated that. Mizuki apologized for being such a mess.

            Koujaku told him it was okay, that they were family, and that’s what he was there for. That, of course, made Mizuki bawl again.

            Because he thought _Noiz_ was his family, too.

            Koujaku is livid. He’s absolutely livid. For all the bullshit that’s happened to Mizuki, for all the fuckery that he’s been put through, it’s _Noiz leaving_ that’s finally got him into this state. Maybe it’s less that Noiz leaving was such an incredible burden and more like the straw that broke the camel’s back, but Koujaku doesn’t care anymore.

            It’s a Thursday night when Koujaku decides to fix this little issue himself, and Mizuki won’t be home for another hour, so he has plenty of time. It’s about three p.m. in Germany when Koujaku finds his Coil on the bedside table and dials Noiz’s number. The blond hardly says hello before Koujaku rips him a new one.

            “You’re an ass!”

            Noiz blinks.

            “You – want my ass?” he smirks.

            Koujaku is _livid._

            “You heard me!” he shouts. “What the fuck are you doing?”

            “Well, I was about to jerk off,” he says. “What are _you_ doing? Got a free minute? Wanna help?”

            “Are you coming back here or not?”

            He didn’t expect Noiz’s face to fall upon hearing the question, but it does. He slides back against a wall and watches Koujaku thoughtfully. He feels a little awkward now. An emotional Noiz is not something he was counting on. It’s not something he’s ever really wanted to deal with. It was a simple enough question, he thought.

            “What do you mean?” Noiz asks. Koujaku pauses. What does _he_ mean?

            “Are you coming back or not?” he yells. “Are you coming back to Midorijima or not?!”

            Noiz blinks a few times.

            “W – why are you calling me?”

            “What the hell are you talking about?!” Koujaku shouts. “Because I need to know! You need to make a call. I am so sick of Mizuki being this hurt.”

            Noiz’s head snaps up.

            “ _What?”_

“Noiz,” Koujaku says incredulously. Does he not understand why Mizuki would be sad? What about this is surprising to him? “Mizuki is a mess without you. He just needs to know… are you coming back or not?” he asks earnestly. “If he needs to move on, then fine, but… but then he needs to do it. He needs to move on.”

            Noiz doesn’t answer. Maybe he needs a moment to process it all but he doesn’t feel like affording him that.

            “He’s drinking every night,” Koujaku continues. “He cries to me. He cries when he’s drunk, mostly, but I can tell he wants to when he’s sober, too. He tells me he’s going to bed, and then he comes crying into the living room instead and gets up on the couch with me. He hugs me and he asks what he did so wrong. He thinks he did something wrong. And I don’t know, maybe he did. I don’t know what your relationship was. But if he did, just fucking tell him. Just let him go. He doesn’t understand why he deserves to miss you so bad and I keep telling him he doesn’t. But, _fuck_. He’s a wreck. I can’t see him like this anymore but you’re the only one who can fix it.”

            Noiz shakes his head.

            “I can’t – I can’t fix it,” he says. “I can’t just – fix other people’s problems.”

            “This isn’t just someone else’s problem,” Koujaku growls. “Look, I told Trip to cut you loose. You were on their line and I told them –”

            “Trip?” Noiz asks in confusion. Koujaku sighs. He was hoping that would slip under the wire. He’s not sure why he was hoping for that though; he should have realized the only other guy he knows who’s fucked Trip would react to it.

            “I was talking to Trip,” he confesses. “That’s how I knew you guys were fucking behind Mizuki’s back. I asked him to let you go, and now I’m asking you to do the same thing with Mizuki.”

            “That’s why – he told me he was Morphine?”

            “I guess so,” Koujaku shrugs.

            “And you want me out of your lives completely?”

            “No!” Koujaku practically screeches, because that’s the craziest part to him. He would have given anything a few months ago to rid his life of Noiz forever. But now – “I don’t even care anymore! If you come back here and you become my fucking brother-in-law, I couldn’t care less! _As long as Mizuki is happy._ Seeing Mizuki happy is what makes me happy, and if having you around is what makes him smile, then that’s fine by me. But if you’re _not_ going to be around, then you need to fucking tell him. Tell him one way or the other. If you come back here, you can _marry_ him for all I care. But make a fucking choice. I’m sick of watching him cry.”

            Noiz doesn’t know what to say, obviously. He’s sitting there like a little brat, on his fancy hotel room couch or what-the-fuck-ever. Koujaku hates that he knows exactly what’s going on in Noiz’s life, because Mizuki tells him everything. He even tells him about the nasty little dildos Noiz sends him, all pierced up like his dick. He forgot the idiot even had all that metal in his cock and he certainly doesn’t want to hear about Mizuki’s sex life with him. Everything about Noiz is irritating him right now, but what’s new? He supposes he’ll never truly be able to get over Noiz, in that even when he thinks he’s done caring about him, the little string bean worms his way back in. Really, he only hates Noiz because he’s an annoying little kid. He’s not so bad when he’s quiet like this, and he’s not so bad when he’s making Mizuki happy.

            Koujaku could get used to him.

            He doesn’t know if he’ll ever have to, but he probably could.

            “So do whatever you want,” he finishes. “But do it soon. I can’t see Mizuki like this anymore.”

            Koujaku hangs up before Noiz can say another word.

            There is one thing that Koujaku knows for certain in this world: he loves his family. He would do anything for them. And he hopes that Mizuki will be a part of his for the rest of his life – even if it means Noiz becomes part of it, too.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love koujaku >3
> 
> first of all: i started my next series!!!!! i'm gonna post the first chapter sometime this week, so that by the next ATYBMH update it can already be started o: o: o: it's a koumizu/mizunoiz thing so it might not be everyone's jam but i just wanted everyone to know!!! it's the expanded work that [this piece](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3397619) is based on, so if you want a lil taste.... the prologue is 17k and had to be split into two parts so its gonna take some time to edit so idk when i'll get it up but hopefully it will be quick


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> noiz will come to remember this as the day he cried that it ended, but could finally start to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is named for [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FRjYNwdYzXg) so i guess it's finally time to link it

            You haven’t heard from Mizuki in two days.

            He did call you twice since the spontaneous conversation with Koujaku, and he could definitely sense that something was wrong. You refused to tell him – that Koujaku called and yelled at you, revealed to you that Mizuki is crying because of you – that still, _still_ you’re making Mizuki cry, and _still_ Koujaku is yelling at you for it. Before, you hated yourself for this. Before, you found your way to Virus and Trip and let them straighten you out. But now, though you still feel a certain swell of discomfort in knowing that Mizuki is crying over you, you don’t find that you blame yourself entirely anymore. It’s been a tough two and a half weeks. Nothing is going to simply fall into place, and you’ve accepted that. None of this is your fault.

            Still – the image of Mizuki crying kills you.

            It haunts you especially when you’re watching him over the Coil or the laptop; sometimes it strikes you when you’re both naked and close to coming, but mostly you feel it when he’s sitting back on his bed and petting a cat, just staring at you, pretending that you’re next to him. When he’s smiling at you, when he’s happiest – that’s when you think about him crying the most. When he asks you what’s wrong, when he says that he can _tell_ something is bothering you – that’s when you get the most nervous and try to cover yourself up. Quite literally, you try to pull the blanket over your face so he can’t see your anxious blush.

            Every time you see him, you’re reminded again that he really is beautiful, which is never something you exactly _forgot_ , but something you didn’t entirely have time to think about with everything that’s been going on. Emmerich is beautiful in a different way, and you suppose you’ve been more focused on that lately. You always thought that Emmerich was beautiful because his freckles reminded you of the sun and his eyes weren't green like your father’s; now you think that Emmerich is beautiful because he’s sweet and he tries to understand other people despite his learned prejudices. Now you think Emmerich is beautiful because when you tell him that he’s being rude, he stops and goes wide-eyed, apologizes immediately, and asks what he’s done wrong. He’s nothing like your father in that respect. Now you think Emmerich is beautiful because he’s lived his entire life under your parents but he’s not broken for it. He’s been rich and taken care of his entire life, but he’s never been loved, not really, yet he’s still open and willing to love _you_. You think that’s beautiful.

            It’s not as if you’d never considered beauty before. You had, you simply thought it would never matter. You used to think that being attracted to someone was the height of beauty, that the only kind of aesthetic that mattered was a sexual one, because it was the only kind that impacted your life in any way. It wasn’t, however, lost on you that there were other kinds of beauty in the world, you just had nothing to do with them. But now you get to appreciate them. That was something you never thought you’d get to do. Mizuki was right. You are not the same person that you were the day you met him. You are grateful for that.    

            Mizuki is beautiful in the way you’ve always known – the sexual way – and you aren’t quick to forget that. Nothing riles you up the way his body does, all tight coils of muscles, compacted into his slender frame. He doesn’t look like anyone you’ve ever known – not huge and intimidating like Koujaku, and not fit but curvy like Aoba. He’s a straight line with broad shoulders and nice arms and sea foam tattoos that line his back so ornately that you always stop and stare, tracing them with your eyes (sometimes your tongue). His hair is that deep red, almost copper color that you miss threading through your fingers post-orgasm – you miss threading it through your fingers pre-orgasm, or during-orgasm, too. Everything about him turns you on. He turns you on to the point that you’re almost embarrassed but that’s okay – he knows how to work that to his advantage and in all honesty, you don’t mind (and you’re further embarrassed that you don’t mind – they're a slippery slope, your boners).

            Yes, to be sure, you certainly look forward to your calls with him because you get to see him and you get to unleash your lust on him, though you do miss getting to do that in person, too. But the visceral desire for his body was only the first stage: he was the one who helped you understand that beauty could exist in layers. First, you wanted his dick inside you. You wanted him to fuck you until you forgot your own name, or what day it was, or where you were. You wanted him to fuck you until it hurt. And then you started wanting him to treat you well, and that was when you realized that you thought he was _beautiful_. When you realized that he was sincere and honest and kind; that he said he wanted to be your friend and meant it: that was when you realized he was a good person, and that’s what made him beautiful.

            You suppose that there’s a chance you think everyone is beautiful. Emmerich and Mizuki are the forerunners, but Aoba trusted you even after you broke into his room and slammed him against a wall. He trusted you even though you were the goofy kid who kissed him at his workplace. Aoba is beautiful because he has a nice ass and a trusting heart. Koujaku is beautiful because sometimes he does stupid shit, like trip in the gutter, and you get to laugh at him. Actually, Koujaku might be the most beautiful person you know, especially when he’s facedown in a puddle or covered in beer a girl just dumped on him.

            Koujaku gave you so many chances when he didn’t have to. Almost every time that Koujaku has yelled at you, it’s been in defense of his friends -- because the most important thing on Earth to Koujaku is that his friends are happy. He said he didn’t mind if you came back, he said he didn’t mind being your friend if that was what Mizuki wanted.

            You roll your eyes. Obviously Koujaku is hot – you definitely _enjoyed_ getting fucked by him next to the dumpster. But you guess Koujaku is beautiful, too. Maybe. You might need to look at that picture of him getting gut-punched again, just to make sure.

            You suppose, all in all, it’s Midorijima that’s beautiful to you, but you’re not sure you’ve ever considered it your home. You’re not sure if you’ve ever considered anywhere your home. You used to think it was Germany, but that’s just because you were born here. The only part of Germany that you even recognize is Emmerich, and he’s the most homey you’ve ever felt. But if Emmerich lived in Midorijima – would that feel more like home?

            If Mizuki lived here – would this feel like home?

            You don’t know what makes a home beautiful. You don’t know what makes a family beautiful. All you know is that you have family in Germany.

            And Midorijima.

            You refused to tell Mizuki that Koujaku called you and told you that he’s crying about you every night, but you did finally tell him about everything else. You told him that you didn’t know where your family was, you didn’t know how to unite everybody together. You didn’t know how to put your family together. He asked if you meant that you want him and Emmerich to be together – at first you thought he was asking if you wanted them to fuck, and you almost lost your shit – but then you realized that yes, that’s exactly what you wanted. You wanted them to be brothers too. You supposed what you were saying was you wanted Emmerich to be Mizuki’s brother-in-law and Mizuki grinned in embarrassment.

            “You’re saying you want to marry me?”

            You didn’t answer. You kind of do want to marry him. You’ve always dreamed of being married with a family and your brother living next door with his own and your children growing up together. You know that’s still a long shot, but you’re far closer to that now than you’ve ever been – and than you’ve ever _thought_ you’d be.

            “My family has always been separated,” you told him. “And I’m sick of it.”

            He didn’t know how to fix this problem. You knew that, you knew that he couldn’t just snap his fingers and make it all better. You wish he could – you wish _you_ could – but no one can, not even Emmerich. Short of him quitting and getting out from under your parents’ thumbs completely, moving to Midorijima, and living with you and Mizuki, there’s no perfect solution to this. Emmerich knows a different life than you do. Even if he’s spent most nights in a shitty bar with people more like you than your dad, he still went to sleep on his four thousand dollar poster bed afterwards. He still turned off his antique oil lamp and then drew shut his canopy blinds and fell asleep on a fucking goose feather pillow or whatever.

            “When you’re with Emmerich, do you feel like you’re home?” Mizuki had asked.

            You nodded, closing your eyes.

            “…When… you were with me… did you feel like you were home?”

            You nodded. Immediately, you nodded.

            Neither of you knew what to say after that, so you simply sat in silence for another five minutes until Mizuki finally said he should get going and you both hung up. It was an unceremonious end to a conversation.

            You messaged him the next day but he didn’t reply. When you called that afternoon, he didn’t pick up. You chalk it up to your weird time zones and schedules and leave it at that. 

            If you'd thought you'd never speak to him again, you wouldn't have let it end like that.

            The next day was just one day shy of your three-week anniversary of being in Germany. You’d hardly left the hotel room during the day, which wasn’t a big deal for you since you barely left your apartment in Midorijima before you met Mizuki either. Emmerich takes you out to bars at night and spends every moment of the weekends with you. Neither of you have gotten sick of sleeping in the same bed still – given, it _is_ an enormous bed – and you’re not tired of holding each other’s hands while you face each other and talk about all the things you have to catch up on. Emmerich’s never had a serious relationship, thinks he might be bisexual, like you, and is nervous for his first sexual experience. He actually doesn’t mind being in business, but he’s always been interested in cooking and mixology, and thinks he would have gone into either of those if he’d had the choice. He loves deer, bubble baths, and strawberries. He can’t decide between pink and silver for his favorite color and when he asks you if you like bunnies, you roll your eyes.

            “Why does everyone always think that?”

            “Are you serious?” he asked, pointing at the rabbit ear hood you were wearing again. “You’re obsessed.”

            You’re not, not really. You never thought of yourself as obsessed with rabbits. You only tried to convince yourself you weren’t afraid of them.

            There are a few more things you wish you could convince yourself you weren’t afraid of, too. You think the most terrifying prospect in your life right now is losing Emmerich.

            It’s officially been three weeks since you arrived in Germany.

            You haven’t heard from Mizuki in two days.

            You’re starting to worry. Even your messages to Koujaku go unanswered. You try not to jump to conclusions – that’s what got you into so many messes with Mizuki to begin with. But it’s difficult, because when all else was lost, you had Mizuki. You suppose that’s what the whole issue has been this whole time, though. When something went wrong, you went to Mizuki. When nothing went wrong, you went to Mizuki. Sometimes you _made_ things go wrong, just so you could go to Mizuki afterwards. You liked Virus and Trip for some arbitrary reasons, like they “made everything feel bad again when you felt good” and you liked that, because it meant you got to run to Mizuki for support. Virus and Trip were the kink and Mizuki was the aftercare, even before you knew what that was.

            You used Mizuki. You expected him to always know what to say just because he _did_ a few times. He was supposed to take care of you in some unrealistic way, so any time he couldn’t, it was reason for you to worry. Any time he had his own shit to deal with, you decided it was because you weren’t worth his time anymore. But that wasn’t true. You truly believed that everything up until that point had always been your fault and it was hard to break away from that, but now you desperately want to. You sincerely want to feel like bad things happen to you without your deserving them. You sincerely want to feel like Mizuki might break up with you and it’s not because you did anything wrong. You sincerely want to feel okay even when something makes you want to hate yourself.

            When is it okay to worry?

            You sit in the hotel room and drag your hands down your face all day, thinking back on the days you first fell in love with Mizuki. Everything seemed perfect. Everything seemed fixable. But now that you look back, you remember how much you still hated yourself, and you have no idea how you felt that way. How could everything feel so perfect if you still despised yourself for everything? And how did Mizuki manage to shake you from that?

            He might not be perfect. He’s right about that. You can’t idolize him. He won’t always know what to do or say to make things better. But he _did_ fix you, in a way. He made you want to help yourself. Maybe you weren’t broken; maybe there was nothing there to fix. Maybe there were simply things to sort out. But Mizuki made you want to sort them, finally, after all that time. Mizuki might not be perfect, but he was right for you. He did the right things for you. He was perfect for you.

            Is. He _is_ perfect for you.

            The idea of never dating him floats through your mind constantly. Is there a world where you and Mizuki remain friends your whole lives, but never end up dating? Is he married with kids? Are you? Are you still friends, but in love with completely different people? You suppose it’s possible. He’s always telling you that you’re still young and you’ll meet all sorts of people in your life. Maybe there’s a universe where one day you just sort of forget Mizuki. Maybe there’s a universe where you eventually go one day without thinking of him. And one day turns into a week. And a week turns into a month. And a month turns into a life of only vaguely appreciating him for all he did for you, even if you don’t know where he is anymore.

            You rub your chest. The thought makes your heart hurt.

            You don’t like that universe.

            It’s possible, though, that Mizuki’s already in that universe. And you’re still here, hoping and waiting that one day, he’ll come back to yours. But you don’t think it works that way: once you’ve transcended, you’re gone. And it’s not just these past two days. It’s the fact that he _never_ wanted to date you. Except that’s not exactly true – he said he wanted to, but the time wasn’t right.

            In which universe will the time come that you get to be with him?

            Does that universe involve Emmerich, too? Is there a universe where you’re raising your kids with Mizuki and Emmerich is next door with his own? You swallow hard to keep from tearing up in embarrassment: you already know what you’d name your kids. You already know where you’d move to in Midorijima if you had them with Mizuki: the newer parts of Platinum Jail. They’re still expensive, but they’re safe. And you could live in a nice, three-story duplex. The kids have their own room on the top floor and yours is on the second, so that you and Mizuki can have sex without them hearing. There’s a school going up there soon, too. By the time they’d be school-aged, it would have been built for a few years.

            This is an entire universe that doesn’t exist. This is an entire universe inside your own head and if Mizuki knew about it, he might run for his life. He hasn’t called in two days. Maybe he already has run.

            It’s been three weeks since you arrived in Germany. Emmerich is supposed to come home early and make you dinner. You’re going to celebrate. To brotherhood. To familial ties. To bonds that you rebuilt, no matter how savagely other people tried to tear them down. Your parents tried to keep you apart, but there are links that can’t be broken. And all that kind of bullshit that sounds like an unbearable cliché but is so palpable and true to you right now that you can taste it. Maybe being a cliché isn’t all that bad. If it’s a good cliché, then you don’t mind so much anymore.

            But when Emmerich is late coming home that night, you feel yourself start to lose it.

            Everyone is slipping away from you. You told Mizuki that he felt like home, knowing that every word you spoke to him was a dagger on his fragile skin. He probably cried to Koujaku and Koujaku told him to stop calling – because Koujaku knows he _told_ you how upset Mizuki was, but you kept calling him anyway. You kept telling him these things anyway. You kept hurting him anyway, because you were selfish and needed him to know. And now they’re gone and you can’t just stomp down to Black Needle and force them to talk to you again.

            You call Emmerich but it rings and rings and rings until you hang up. You call Mizuki but it goes to voicemail. You know that logically, none of this is your fault. You know that you’ve done all you could, you know that you’ve told them how you feel; you’ve told them that you love them, which was never something that you meant to hide from people, but simply something you thought would never matter. What was the point of telling people how you felt if you didn’t value your own life? Why let anyone know that you care if you weren’t ever going to do anything about it? But then you realized just how badly you wanted to prove that you cared. You told them. You told them both how much you cared, and that was all that you _could_ do.

            You don’t deserve to be deserted like this, but it’s so hard to remember that. It’s so hard to remind yourself that you don’t deserve to feel bad when you’re all fucking alone, contained in this fucking hotel room, locked away in this cell lest your fucking father find you out on the streets of Germany and blame you for hurting every single thing you pass. It’s just like before. You came back to Germany to be with Emmerich but you’re still locked up, still removed from everyone else. It’s just like when you were a child.

            It’s seven p.m. when you throw your Coil against the wall in frustration. It doesn’t break, but your Usagi get upset and ask what’s wrong. You’d kick them too, if you hadn’t come to appreciate them so much.

            It’s eight p.m. when you pace in front of the door, debating whether or not to leave. You feel so restrained, even though you know you can get out. The door is unlocked, but for some reason you can’t open it. Physically, you could leave. But mentally, you’re still chained up.

            It’s almost nine p.m. when Emmerich finally bursts in the door of the hotel. You’re terrified at the sudden explosion. You have to grip your chest to still your heart. You almost scream at him but he rushes toward you.

            It’s almost nine p.m. when he grabs you, red-faced and panting, and says, “I did it.”

            It’s almost nine p.m. when your life changes.

            He’s a stark contrast to the tortured mindset you were just indulging and you stare him in confusion.

            “…You did what?” you ask, your eyes darting between his. He raises his eyebrows and nods.

            “I left,” he says. He’s out of breath. He stares you down and shakes his head once, then pulls away and smiles. “I _left_.”

            He’s so animated but you don’t really know what to say. It _occurs_ to you what he’s left, but you don’t exactly register it fully, so you ask:

            “You – left what?”

            He laughs.

            “ _Dad!_ ” he cries. He throws his arms open. “I just – I quit. I told him, I said ‘I quit,’ and then he yelled at me. He didn’t let me leave for two hours. He locked me in the room and screamed but I quit.”

            You stand up from the couch and stare at your baby brother.

            “Don’t joke about this.”

            “I’m not joking.”

            You didn’t think he was, really. You just had to make sure. You’ve wanted this for so long and everything else has been going wrong, so you had to make sure this wasn’t a gross joke. Then it dawns on you:

            “He locked you in?” you ask. Emmerich pauses awkwardly. He’s only just made the connection.

            “Ah – yeah. His office,” he says. “That always was his way, I guess.”

            “His way?” you ask cautiously. There’s even more to the way they treated him that you don’t know. You suppose there always will be things you don’t know or understand about his childhood, but you’d like to try.

            “They used to ground me – it doesn’t matter,” he says, waving his hand around. “I _quit.”_ He lights up again, as if it’s all occurred to him all over again. He goes to the refrigerator and looks inside. He bends over to move some things out of the way and then closes the door. “I _quit_ , and now we have to get everything packed up and out of here.”

            You stop.

            “We – what?”

            “He’s going to come here to look for me,” he shrugs at you. He’s fired up but he’s smiling. He’s excited. He’s got a lot of adrenaline going. You try to catch up with him, but it’s all a little numbing still. You want to tell Mizuki, but you can’t do that. Thoughts are coming to you at random, at a million miles a second. Your father might show up here. You have to leave. You don’t know where you and Emmerich are supposed to go.

            “He’ll come here?” you ask. Emmerich nods as he shoulders past you and into the bedroom. You follow him in and watch him grab a suitcase out of the closet and then point at your bag. “Pack up your stuff. We gotta get out of here.”

            “And go where?”

            “I don’t know!” Emmerich shouts, turning to you sharply and running his hands through his hair. The energy in the room changes from ecstatic to terrified as he leans forward and pulls his hair up with a crazed smile. He’s starting to freak out. You’re still unbearably calm. “I don’t know where to go. I don’t know – I don’t know where we can go!”

            “Well, what were you thinking you’d do when you quit?” you ask, your voice coming out more angrily than you mean for it to. How did this all happen? You’d been _planning_ this out for so long – how did this happen with no _plan?_

            “I wasn’t thinking!” he yells. “I wasn’t thinking when I quit! I couldn’t! I couldn’t be thinking!”

            You both square off against each other. Emmerich’s hands are still on his head awkwardly, like he’s a kid who’s done something crazy but swears it made him feel alive. Your arms are folded and you feel like the parent, like the guardian who’s annoyed with their child. But you aren’t angry. You’re just shocked and a little confused.

            “I couldn’t think about anything other than getting out of there,” he says, his voice softening. “I couldn’t be there anymore. I couldn’t stop thinking about – everything. It was all so easy to ignore before. It was so easy to forget and push everything down before you came back but… I can’t do it. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t be in the same room as him.”

            You give up your stance as concerned parent and stare at the floor. He was doing it to defend you.

            “He said I’d been distracted the past month or so. He said I’d been fucking up and it wasn’t like me. He said I’d been acting more like my older brother.”

            You look up at him. You try not to look scared. He did it for you. Not because he’s chivalrous. Not because _it was the right thing to do._ He did it impulsively, because he was doing it for you. Because his impulse is to defend you.

            “And I just couldn’t think of anything else anymore. I quit. I quit immediately and left – well, like I said, I didn’t leave right away. He wouldn’t let me. But I finally got him to let me out. He told me to think things over but I told him I wouldn’t be there in the morning.”

            “Does he know I’m here?” you ask abruptly. Emmerich shakes his head.

            “He might suspect, but I don’t know. I didn’t tell him.” He turns back to the closet as if he's about to take the suit case down, and then turns back to the bed in a frenzy when he realizes he already has. “I imagine our money is going to be cut off soon. We need to get as much cash out as we can.”

            “I don’t need the money,” you tell him as he flips his suitcase open on the bed. He looks up at you and smiles gratefully.

            “I don’t either. But we need to get out somehow.”

            You nod at him. You grab your bag and start to dump your dresser drawer into it. You didn’t bring much so you don’t need to pack much.

            You can’t believe this is happening. And like all things in your life, it’s happening so _fast._

            “He’s going to check the apartment,” Emmerich tells you. “That’s probably first. That’s why I came here first. We should get everything we can packed and then get money out of the ATM and then see if he’s changed the locks on my apartment or something.”

            “He can’t do that in an hour.”

            Emmerich laughs manically. You look over at him, shocked at his tone, and see him hunching over his suitcase and pulling at his hair again. He’s really losing it.

            “Of course not,” he says. “Fuck, of course he can’t change the locks this quick. I’m fucking – okay, I’ll go alone and see if he’s there. I’ll take as much as I can if he’s not. I’ll sell all my stuff.”

            His suitcase is full of random items -- soaps, blankets, ties -- and you watch him sit on it to get it to close. He latches it with some trouble and then stands it up. He turns to the mirror and looks at himself and for some reason, that’s when it hits you.

            “You left,” you say to him. You smile. He turns to you and echoes it.

            “Yes!”

            “You’re free?”

            “Yes!”

            He’s free. He doesn’t have to _take over the family business_. He doesn’t have to marry a rich girl and have babies and name them _Theo Emmerich Junior_ or _Wilhelm the Third_ or something. In any case, your father would probably insist he be named Wilhelm the Second and just ignore you ever existed. But he doesn’t have to worry about that now. He can marry a man in Midorijima and name his kid whatever stupid name he wants, like Orangehead or Koujaku or something.

            “You can – do anything now?”

            “I can do whatever I want!” he cries, crossing over to you and grabbing your wrists. He holds them up, between your faces, and you lean in to knock your forehead against his. You start to laugh when you notice the tears in his eyes. Everyone is crying these days. But this one is nice. This is a good kind of crying. You’re okay with these tears.

            “You can come back with me,” you tell him. “You can come to Midorijima. You can meet Mizuki. You can meet everyone. You can even meet Koujaku, the shithead. You can be with me.”

            You’re mostly rambling to yourself than actually suggesting these things to him. You’re imagining a whole new universe that can exist now and you can’t stop smiling. You reach into Emmerich’s hair and pull on it wildly. This is not the kind of touching you ever thought you’d do with him, but you’re emotional. You’re _so_ emotional. Now you _really_ have your baby brother back. You can’t believe it.

            You can’t believe that your baby brother is back – and that he isn’t smiling about it.

            Your face falls cautiously.

            “What’s wrong?”

            Emmerich reaches up slowly and pulls your hands out of his hair. He keeps them gripped in his as he stands back and stares at you with a sad smile.

            “I – I don’t – I don’t know if I want to leave Germany.”

            You’re silent.

            The room is so quiet that you can hear the gears in your mind turn over.

            The air conditioner is on. You never realized how loud it is.

            You stare at your baby brother.

            You thought you had your baby brother back.

            …

            You want your baby brother back.

            “Oh.”

            Emmerich opens his mouth to say something else but stops himself. It was a short-lived burst of joy, but you’re still glad. You’re still glad that he’s out from your parents’ grip. But you can’t stop blinking at him in disbelief. He rubs his tears from his eyes.

            “Um, but… but we have a lot of stuff to figure out anyway,” he says quietly.

            You nod.

            That’s true.

            You have a lot of things to think about. You have a lot of choices to make. You thought you had more time, but you have to make them now, apparently.

            “Let’s get out of here,” you say. He lets go of your wrists and that’s when the tears come to you. You hate that he’s let go. You only just started getting to touch your brother. You don’t want to give that up.

            You could stay in Germany. You could stay with him here. In fact, you suppose that’s what’s going to happen, since it doesn’t seem like Mizuki wants to be your family anymore, anyway. And it makes the most sense: there’s really no reason for Emmerich to leave. He doesn’t know Japanese and he’ll never be as fluent as you are. He wouldn’t have as easy a time getting around in Midorijima, and he’s already attached to Berlin. You know German. You know Berlin. It makes more sense that you’d stay here, with your brother.

            Mizuki will call you back. You realize this, of course, no matter how shitty you feel about it now. If he didn’t, it would actually solve a lot of problems. But he will, and he will ask if you’re coming – home. And you’ll tell him no.

            And you’ll let him go.

            You don’t _want_ to. You’d have a long-distance relationship with him. But if he didn’t want to date you while you were with him, there’s no way he’ll want to maintain something this strained already. He could move to Germany, but he’s already told you that he’s more attached to Midorijima than you ever were to your home country. And that’s because Germany wasn’t your home the way Midorijima was his.

            So you’ll let him go, just like Koujaku told you to. You’re only twenty years old. You’ll meet other people. And he’s only twenty-eight, so he will too. Maybe you’ll talk a few more times. Maybe you’ll stay in touch. But it’ll be too hard at first, so you’ll probably go a few months without any contact. And then, if you _do_ talk again, it’ll still be on a seven-hour time difference. It won’t be like it was before. This is the new universe you have to occupy. You get your brother, but you lose Mizuki. And you suppose, in the grand scheme of things, that’s okay, even if it’s the opposite of everything you’ve ever understood: family doesn’t have to be blood. But in this case, the family that you choose _is_ blood, and the family that you lose will go back to being an acquaintance. And eventually, they’ll become “an old friend who helped me through so much, but I just lost touch with.” This is the universe you’ve chosen.

            This is the universe without Mizuki.

            You sling your bag over your shoulder and try to breathe in. The air hitches awkwardly as it takes all your strength not to cry. You follow Emmerich into the living room when there’s a pounding at the door.

            He freezes immediately and pulls his shoulders up in fear. He grimaces at you and then tiptoes to the door to look out the peephole. His eyes are wide when he looks back at you.

            “It’s him,” he whispers.

            It’s your father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont have anything to say because im kind of emotional theres only one chapter left iw asnt expecting to be this emotional


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Noiz will come to think of this as the day that the beginning ended..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [a friend showed me [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=io9ivuo4r6Q) and I cried, honest to God cried, and I'm not a crier]

            Emmerich opens the door before you can say a word.

            Your first thought about your father being here and seeing you is – to not. Don’t let him. Don’t let him in, don’t let him see you. Don’t let him know you’re here. His entire life, he has dedicated himself to keeping you locked away. Even when you had the rest of the world available to you, you still felt like your father’s prisoner. You weren’t allowed to see Emmerich, so what was the point of travelling the rest of the world? You were still locked out of the family, the one place you wanted to be more than anywhere else. It only just occurs to you that he’s the only reason you ever left in the first place, which means he’s the reason you ever met Mizuki. That’s hilarious. Sickly hilarious.

            But then you feel a jolt of energy. You want to see him. You want to face him after all this time. You were scared that he might try to bring you _back_ – that’s what Mizuki warned you against. Mizuki thought that he might try to tell you that he and your mother were sorry, that they wanted nothing more than to have their son back, to reunite their family. You and Mizuki were afraid you’d fall for that.

            But he doesn’t. He doesn’t want that. How could he? He’s still yelling at Emmerich, he’s still comparing him to you, he’s still telling him you are not a person he wants to be compared to – which, months ago, you would have laughed dryly about. You would have agreed. But now…

            Your father is still treating you and your brother like shit. Your father is a bad person. Your father deserves to have his sons abandon him. Your father did bad things and now he deserves to face the consequences. Not you. You don’t reap what he sows. And neither does your little brother.

            So when Emmerich opens the door, the nervous part of you reaches out to stop him. It screams, “ _No!”_ It pushes your entire body so far forward that your bag swings around to your front and weighs you down. You crash to the floor. But on your way down, the angry part of you – the part that wants your revenge, that part that wants to show your father just how loved you are now, despite his greatest efforts to keep you convinced you deserved otherwise – notices that… his shoes seem out of place.

            And then a third realization pops into your head:

            You are so stupid. Not the kind of stupid you used to think you were – not the kind of stupid that you thought you were for ever thinking you could deserve something as good as Mizuki or Emmerich or anyone ever loving you. You’re not that kind of stupid. Expecting to be loved is not stupid of you. Wanting to be loved is not stupid of you.

            You’re the kind of stupid that didn’t realize this is your story. You’ve done the hard part: you’ve accepted your mistakes, your flaws, your shortcomings. You’ve accepted that you’ve done things wrong, that you _have_ hurt people, and you’ve accepted that you don’t have to punish yourself for them anymore. You did the hard part. This is when you get your reward. Your climax. This is when something _good_ finally happens.

            You sit back on your knees and look up at the boy in the doorway.

            “I came to bring you home.”

            You haven’t heard Japanese in real life for so long. For too long.

            You’re going to kill Emmerich.

            Why would he call Mizuki _“him?”_ Why would he think you’d know that he meant _him,_ your _boyfriend, him, the love of your fucking life?_ After all this talk of your father, and he just calls Mizuki _“him?”_

“Mizuki,” you breathe.

            “I came to bring you home, even if that means bringing myself to you.”

            You scramble to your feet but you try to run to him before you’re fully balanced and fall again. You start to laugh at yourself. You’re so embarrassed and you don’t care. It’s okay; everything is okay because Mizuki is here.

            He laughs at you, too. You remain on your hands and knees on the floor until he tackles you, embraces you in the biggest hug: a hug that rivals the one you gave Emmerich three weeks ago. A hug that rivals the one you got from Mizuki in Black Needle the day he said he’d do it as long as it took for you to feel it. You haven’t even looked him in the eyes yet but he has his cheek pressed to yours and your arms wrap around each other. You are not going to let go this time.

            “I don’t know if this is okay,” he says quietly, nuzzling against your face. “I don’t know if it was healthy to come all this way and find you.”

            “How _did_ you find me?”

            “I knew your real names. I don’t know if I should have. But I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t want to only see you on a screen anymore. You did so much to prove you loved me but you didn’t need to, you never had to prove it to me, and I just wanted to prove it back.”

            “You didn’t – need to,” you tell him. “You didn’t need to either.”

            “I know,” he nods against you. “But you said that you felt like you were home with Emmerich. And I just wanted you to know…”

            You pull your head away and finally look him in the eyes. You cock your head to the side.

            “Know what?”

            He takes a deep breath.

            He smiles. Mizuki smiles at you. In person, Mizuki is smiling at you.

            “I just wanted you to know that I feel like I’m home with you.”

            You swallow the lump in your throat and kiss him. It feels so good to kiss him again. He holds you by the back of your jaw and your hands find their way to his waist. You vaguely remember that someone else is in the room but you don’t care. You want to hold Mizuki.

            “I wanted to feel you again,” he tells you.

            “I wanted to feel you, too.”

            You need just one more moment to soak it all in. You thought you were destined to a universe without Mizuki, and you were already trying to feel accustomed to it. Two days – that’s about how long it would take to get here if he had some shitty layovers. Of course he wasn’t ignoring you. He loves you. Of course he loves you. There is no alternate universe where Mizuki is just a distant story from your past. Once, you sat in Mizuki’s living room and told him that you had no family. Now your family is your only universe.

            Suddenly, nothing seems as dire. Nothing seems as terrifying. Nothing seems so daunting anymore. You’re ready to make all these decisions. You’ve never gotten to be with your family all in one room before –

            “Oh!” you shout. Mizuki widens his eyes at you. You stand up and pull him with you. “I – this is Emmerich.”

            You wave to your little brother and Mizuki turns to him. He beams at him.

            “Emm – _rick_ ,” he enunciates slowly with a smile. He steps to him and holds out his hand. Emmerich takes it. He has the firm shake of a businessman and you can tell that Mizuki is a little surprised. He _is_ a lot stronger than he looks.

            “Meez-pookie,” Emmerich blurts. You cover your mouth.

            “No,” you say immediately through your fingers. Mizuki laughs. “No, it’s _Mi-zu-ki.”_

            “Kristian!” he whispers angrily with a stamp of his foot. You roll your eyes. He’s being a diva. “I don’t understand Japanese this well. What the fuck is going on?”

            “Fuck,” you mutter. You forgot. “He – said a bunch of – romantic stuff that – that you don’t need to know about. I told him you’re my little brother. And his name is _Mizuki_.”

            Emmerich glowers at you and then slowly turns his head back to Mizuki. His glare turns into a grin.

            “Mi- _zuki_ ,” he says with one, slow nod. Mizuki nods back and laughs again. You forgot about the language barrier. It’s not like you ever thought they’d speak face-to-face. Coils can translate automatically, but this _did_ happen without your foreknowledge.

            You want to sit here and bask in the glow of the love of your life showing up to find you halfway across the world. It’s like all the movies you watched together. All the movies that Mizuki made fun of. All the movies you never thought would be about you. They all just happened to you and you want to revel in it a little longer. But you can’t do that. You’d like to have a _night_ , just a length of time where you and Mizuki fall into each other and make love until you’re too exhausted to do anything else but fall asleep in each other’s arms, but you can’t do that. You can’t do that right now, because for one, your brother is standing three feet away from you. And two –

            You have shit to do.

            “Okay,” you relent finally, grabbing Mizuki by the shoulders and turning him to face you. You’ll have your moment together later. Tomorrow, next week, in a month, who knows. But you’ll have it. You have all the time in the world now to have that moment. “You came at the best time. We have to go.”

            Mizuki raises his eyebrows.

            “W-what?”

            “We have to _go_. Emmerich just quit. He just quit the family business and now we have to get out of here before our dad shows up. I thought you were him, actually.”

            “Oh – I – oh,” Mizuki says, his head shaking slightly while cogs obviously turn over in his head as he takes it all in. “Okay. I mean, I just got off like, three planes, but –”

            “Yeah, I know, sorry,” you say. “Flying here sucks.”

            “Can I pee first?”

            You blink slowly.

            “Of course.”

            Mizuki runs to the bathroom and Emmerich pulls you toward him by your shoulder.

            “What is going on?” he seethes. “I don’t understand what you two are saying to each other!”

            “I’m sorry!” you say, shouldering him off of you. “I didn’t know he was going to come, I really didn’t. He just showed up. He just…”

            You want to say that he showed up because he loves you, but saying it out loud sounds so silly, even if it’s true.

            But it must show on your face. It must show on your face that you’re relieved, ecstatic, so, _so_ in love, because Emmerich softens and then leans in to give you a hug. You rock your head against him. Everything is so –

            “I’m glad for you,” Emmerich says tenderly. Your heart drops again.

            “I wish you’d come with me,” you say without thinking. “I wish… you’d come back to Midorijima with me and Mizuki.”

            Emmerich pulls away to look you in the eye. He seems a little surprised, but mostly he just seems sad. He smiles gently at you and grips your hands, as usual.

            “But my life is here.”

            “Not anymore,” you say. “You just left it.”

            “I have a life outside of Mom and Dad,” he says. “I have other goals. I don’t know anyone in Midorijima.”

            “You know me.”

            “I don’t know Japanese.”

            “I can teach you.”

            “It would be so hard for me there.”

            You take a deep breath. It would. It would be really difficult for him and you know that. You know that because you were fairly fluent in Japanese before you went and it was even difficult for you to manage for your first few months. And you _wanted_ to leave. You had nothing else. Emmerich has some semblance of a life here.

            You nod at him and hold his hands in front of you.

            “It’s just that… I _just_ got you back,” you whimper. “I don’t want to lose you again so soon.”

            He looks at you oddly and turns his head like a puppy confused by a command.

            “Lose me?” he asks. “You’re not losing me.”

            You close your eyes. You know what he means, but…

            “If you stay here…” you say, trailing off. He shakes his head.

            “So what?” he shrugs. “You just got me back. We just _started_ being brothers again. You’re not going to lose me just because you go back to Japan and I stay here. You’re in this now… you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

            You smile. That’s sweet. Not sweet enough to fix this, but… it’s sweet.

            “I just don’t want to be so far away from you.”

            “I know,” he sighs. “I don’t either. But we can call. We can visit. I _just_ saw you for the first time three weeks ago. Just getting to hug you right now was something I never got to do for the first eighteen years of my life. Distance didn’t stop you from loving Mizuki, did it?”

            You look up suddenly. That’s true. Even when you thought you were living a life that was never going to involve Mizuki again, you didn’t stop loving him.

            “I know,” you say quietly. “I still hate that I won’t get to touch you. I just got used to getting to touch you.”

            “Go back to Japan with Mizuki,” he says, pulling you into a hug again. “Figure things out with him. I’ll always be here. You can take as long as you need to with him. You can stay in Japan forever. It doesn’t matter. Nothing’s going to keep us from being family.” He pulls away again to look you in the eye. “We’re brothers.”

            You take another deep breath and close your eyes slowly. You nod at him. You guess that’s how you have to look at it: you could, for some reason, never speak to him again and you’d still always love him. And you know that he loves you. Of course he loves you. He’s your brother.

            “Do we need to go?”

            Mizuki stands in the doorway to the bedroom. He’s speaking quietly, trying not to disturb the moment. But he’s right. You need to get going.

            “Yeah,” you say, wiping away tears. You still haven’t really accepted that somehow, you’re going to lose someone. You probably won’t until you have your first moment of rest, so you hope you can delay that as long as possible. “Should we go?”

            “Yeah,” Emmerich nods. “I need to get cash and go to my apartment. I think you and Mizuki should spend some time together, though.”

            “No,” you say immediately. “I’m not leaving you. I want to spend all the time I can with you.”

            Emmerich grins at you and takes a moment to think.

            “Okay,” he nods. “Why don’t you two go get cash with my card and then meet me at the bar. I’ll be there in an hour.”

            He takes his wallet out and hands you his credit card. There’s an ATM on the way and he has a friend whose house he can take his stuff to. You hug him goodbye, even though you’ll see him soon. You don’t care. You hug him so tight that he can’t breathe.

            You take Mizuki to the bar and explain as much as you can to him. You tell him that you thought he’d dumped you, that you thought your life with him was over and he makes out with you in a dark corner for almost half an hour and no one complains. You tell him that you’re sorry, you’re sorry for everything, you’re sorry that you didn’t understand things before and that you made mistakes, and that you’re sorry for ever hurting him. He frowns, but before he can say anything, you add that you’re also sorry for any mistakes you make in the future – because you’re bound to, and so is he. Because that’s what people do, and no one can be perfect. He can’t be perfect, and you’re not expecting him to be. In fact, you say, you can’t wait until his first fuckup. He smiles at you and pulls you into his lap, making out with you some more until Emmerich arrives and gags as loudly as possible.

            They can’t understand each other so you have to act as translator, but you’re happy to do it. There was a time that you couldn’t communicate with your family at _all_ , but now you’re the one who does it _for_ them. They’re your family. They’re each other’s family. They’re going to be family for a long, long time.

            “You’ll have to learn to speak German,” you tell Mizuki. He rolls his eyes.

            “Why can’t he learn Japanese?”

            “He wants to know why _you_ won’t learn Japanese,” you say to Emmerich. He throws one hand up.

            “I know some Japanese!” he shouts, staring at Mizuki. “I know a little bit of everything! I confuse them too much. I called him your little friend.”

            “What’s that mean?” you ask.

            “Little friend is what they say in France,” he says. “I think. I don’t know. Whatever. I said ‘little friend’ in Japanese and he got _so_ offended.”

            You turn to Mizuki.

            “He says he called you my little friend.”

            “Yeah!” he shouts, furrowing his eyebrows as he apparently remembers the brief altercation. You must have been in the bathroom. “Tell him how big my dick is, then he won’t be calling me that.”

            You turn back to your drink, grabbing the straw and placing it between your lips to take a sip.

            “I’m not going to tell him that.”

            The bartender brings them shots and you decide to do one with them. It’s sweet and you don’t mind it so much right now, if only because this is a moment you’d like to last forever. Mizuki introduced you to good times with friends. He introduced you to good times with lovers. But you never got to have good times with family before, and this is something you want to remember.

            “What is he doing, then?” Mizuki asks an hour later, pointing at Emmerich. Your heart starts to race again as you turn to Emmerich slowly.

            “He wants to know what you’re doing.”

            “I’m staying with a friend,” Emmerich shouts over the noise in the bar. “Just for a little while, until I get another job. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I have so much open to me at this point… I don’t know what I want to do yet.”

            “He’s not sure, but he’s staying with a friend,” you tell Mizuki. He smiles at you.

            “He doesn’t want to come to Midorijima, huh?”

            You freeze. _No,_ you think. _No, he fucking doesn’t._ You’re not _mad,_ you’re just – so – it’s all – so –

            “No,” you sigh finally. “We talked about that.”

            “So…”

            You raise an eyebrow. He has something he wants to say but isn’t sure he should say it.

            “Yeah?” you urge. His tongue swipes his bottom lip quickly before he looks down at the floor.

            “So – are you going to stay here with him?” he asks. He seems hopeful. He seems just as hopeful as you were that Emmerich would come to Midorijima with you. It’s a sick sort of irony. Everything is fine. Everything is _so good_. But it still can’t be perfect.

            Mizuki has always said that.

            He’s not perfect. You’re not perfect. Emmerich sure as hell isn’t perfect.

            Nothing will ever be… _perfect_.

            And for the first time, that doesn’t scare you. In fact, there’s a sudden sense of calm and complacency in knowing that things will fall into place when you all know and understand and love each other. You’ve never had that before. You’ve never been able to feel that. You’ve never felt a trust so deep in someone that you didn’t have to question if they loved you. You don’t have to worry what anyone else will do. Everything they do will still revolve around the people they love – and they love you. _You don’t have to worry._

            This is freeing.

            It’s so fucking freeing. You take a deep breath.

            “I’m not sure,” you say. He came all this way. To pretend you don’t realize that he wants you back with him would be silly.

            Mizuki stares at the table. He starts to pick at the corner of it, where the lacquer is peeling. When he speaks, his voice is loud but gentle:

            “I… can only stay here for about a week or so. I have a cheap hotel room, but I don’t have much money. I can only stay a week before I’d run out of money to fly back.”

            It used to feel like you had to make a choice. But now that you’re here at your crossroads, it doesn’t feel like that anymore. It’s not a _choice_ ; it’s not an ultimatum. You’re not going to pick one over the other like you thought you were. You’re not actually losing anybody. It seems so simple, like these two made your decision for you. Emmerich is your brother, no matter where you are in the world. When you were separated, either by a door or by an ocean, you were still brothers. You aren’t losing a brother. You just gained him. You grab his hand abruptly, startling him. He stares at you.

            “I think I’m going back to Midorijima,” you tell him. He raises his eyebrows at you, and at first you’re scared he’s going to cry. But then he grins. And you know this is all going to be okay.

            It’s not just going to _be okay_.

            This feels like your life has just begun.

            …That’s really melodramatic.

            (But it’s true.)

            “That’s good,” Emmerich nods. You return his grin.

            “We’ll be here one more week,” you tell him. He breathes out and reaches toward Mizuki, who doesn’t understand, but takes his hand anyway.

            Then he quietly reaches over and takes your other hand in his.

            “I’ll come visit you,” Emmerich says. “Tell him that.”

            You grin to yourself as you turn to Mizuki. It’s too much. You’re bursting. You’re so overjoyed, and you’re not used to it. It’s strange, to feel this full. You don’t know how to tell Mizuki. You don’t know how to tell him that you’re going with him. You don’t know how to tell him that he’s your home.

            “He says he’ll come visit us.”

            You just say it. You just blurt it out, and it isn’t satisfying. It’s like a bad orgasm with someone you love: it should have been better.

            He doesn’t seem to notice.

            “Okay,” he nods with a shrug.

            You don’t reply right away. You thought he’d be more excited. You thought he’d give a shit that you were going back with him. You thought – he seemed so sad that you didn’t know if you’d go back with him. Why isn’t he more excited?

            Then he says:

            “What? Wait, you mean at the hotel, right?”

            You actually laugh in his face.

            You don’t mean to. He’s just really close to you and you’re so relieved that you let out a giant gut laugh.

            You shake your head.

            “No, Mizuki. In Midorijima.”

            Mizuki’s eyes widen so slowly that you swear you’ll never forget this moment. You have enough time to soak it in. This is the best reaction you could have hoped for.

            “You’re coming back with me?”

            You nod. You’re feeling pretty self-assured now, all cocky and arrogant, ignoring the fact that he didn’t understand you at first. And then he lets go of your hands and grabs your face. He kisses you harder than he ever has. He kisses you so hard that he steals your breath. He kisses you so hard that you can’t even kiss back.

            Emmerich splits you apart with his hand.

            “Absolutely disgusting,” he shouts. You laugh, but Mizuki isn’t listening. He’s staring at you intently, licking his lips like he’s lost in thought.

            “I love you,” he says, shaking your arms the tiniest bit. You’re a little shocked at his tenacity. “I love you _so fucking much_.”

            “I love you too,” you answer immediately.

            “What’s he saying?”

            “Emmerich,” you groan. “Will you stop ruining our moments?”

            “What’s he saying?” Emmerich repeats, his voice the same exact tone as before.

            “He said he loved me!” you shout. Emmerich looks offended.

            “Well, I love you too,” he says. You’re taken aback; all the affection is overwhelming. You’ve never been genuinely loved this much and this is another reason you want this moment to last forever. You’re about to grab him and tell him that you love him too, when he says, “But you don’t see me making out with you in the middle of a bar.”

            They give you shit the rest of the night. You close down the bar together, but for some reason the bartender doesn’t make you leave. Emmerich tells him that it’s a family reunion, and you think he must have a special relationship with Emmerich, because he seems to understand him on a different level entirely and lets you stay. But it is. It’s a family reunion. You’ve reunited with both of them.

            You’re not entirely sure what this universe is going to involve. Maybe you won’t ever marry Mizuki and live next door to Emmerich, your children all playing in the front yards together. But the universe won’t separate you again. You won’t let it.

            The sun comes up before you leave. You all pass out in Mizuki’s hotel room, which is a far cry from Emmerich’s, but no one cares. You never got to fall asleep in the same bed as your brother when you were kids. Now you’re falling asleep in the same bed as your whole family.

            It’s not as comfortable as you would have hoped.

 

            (Two months later, you’re in your regular seat at Black Needle. Mizuki leans over the bar to give you a kiss and tell you that he’ll be home later. You still don’t live with him; you got a programming job as soon as you got back and bought a new apartment, closer to him – and Koujaku.

            But you get to call Mizuki your boyfriend now.

            You’re not monogamous. At least, you say you’re not, and you’re both happy with the idea that you can flirt with other people and if anyone wants a threesome, you’d both be happy to consider. But neither of you have strayed from each other. Not yet. You wonder if you ever will. It’s okay if things change, because you know how to talk to each other. You know how to be open.

            Emmerich is working part-time at a bar and as a waiter at a restaurant where he’s also learning to cook, just like he always wanted. He’s not sure it’s what he wants to do with his life anymore, but he calls you every day, ecstatic that he gets to experience the world in a way he never did before. Your dad still tries to contact him. He never responds. You both know it’s only a matter of time until they meet again, but Emmerich doesn’t fear it. He mostly rolls his eyes and wonders if he’ll beg. After all, he’s out of sons to exploit now, so who will take over the company?

            Emmerich calls just before you’re leaving the bar to iron out a few details about his trip to visit you in a week. Koujaku is sitting next to you when you pull him up on your Coil. It’s been two months, and Koujaku has still never seen a picture of Emmerich. It’s a quick conversation, and when you hang up, you look to Koujaku to insult him before you leave, but you catch him staring.

            “What?” you ask, furrowing your brows.

            “That was your brother?”

            “Yeah.”

            He looks worried.

            “What’s wrong?” you ask.

            “… He was cute.”

            – That was shocking. Your eyes widen in disgust… but then you grin.

            “He looks just like _me,_ ” you tell him, in case he didn’t realize.

            He realized.

            “Don’t tell Mizuki,” he mutters.

            “I won’t tell Mizuki,” you say as you stand up. “But I’ll tell _him_. In a week. When he comes to visit.”

            Koujaku moans in regret as you leave. You go by your apartment first to get your guest room ready for Emmerich. It’s still a week away, but you’re too excited. Even though your apartment is smaller than before, there’s a tiny den attached to the living room that you’ve designated as Emmerich’s bedroom. It’s a standing order, no matter how long it’s been since he’s visited – which he never has. You’re excited for his first time.

            Two hours later, you’re naked and in Mizuki’s bed, waiting for him to get home. Emmerich is now out of mind, and you’re thinking only of the things Mizuki promised to do to your body tonight. When he finally arrives, he slides next to you and kisses your forehead and then your lips. He props his head up with a hand.

            “So,” he says. “Koujaku says he made a mistake today.”

            You smirk.

            “Sure did.”

            “Have you told Emmerich yet?”

            “No,” you tell him, rolling onto your back with a sigh. “Are you going to try to convince me not to?”

            “Yes,” he says. You glare at him.

            “Why? He openly admitted it.”

            “Because,” Mizuki says, turning to kiss your cheek. “Emmerich is family. You don’t fuck over your family by setting them up with people like Koujaku.”

            You laugh from your gut as Mizuki giggles into your neck.

            “Don’t tell him I said that.”

            You roll onto his lap and straddle him.

            “This is why I love you,” you say, leaning down to kiss him. “Now fuck me into the mattress.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _... and the day everything else began._
> 
>  
> 
> [[final author's notes]](http://wimtheo.tumblr.com/private/122166222454/tumblr_nqcmxwbkbn1u6m5a1)

**Author's Note:**

> ( ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯)
> 
> i know it's weird tell me what you think tho bc im gonna write it no matter what but im feelin kinda weird postin it if everyones makin fun of me wahhhh


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